Vasari on technique : $b Being the introduction to the three arts of design, architecture, sculpture, and painting. Prefixed to the lives of the most excellent painters, sculptors and architects

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Title: Vasari on technique : Being the introduction to the three arts of design, architecture, sculpture, and painting. Prefixed to the lives of the most excellent painters, sculptors and architects
Author: Vasari, Giorgio
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Vasari on technique : Being the introduction to the three arts of design, architecture, sculpture, and painting. Prefixed to the lives of the most excellent painters, sculptors and architects" ***

VASARI ON TECHNIQUE

_All rights reserved_

[Illustration:

THE RARER KINDS OF STONE MENTIONED BY VASARI.

=A=, Egyptian Porphyry. =A=^1, Portion of the same piece that has
passed through the fire. =B=, Dark green porphyritic stone,
incorrectly called “Serpentine.” =C=, =D=, Two specimens of Breccias
of Seravezza (Stazzema). =E=, “Verde di Prato,” a true Serpentine.
=F=, =F=, Red Marble or Limestone from Monsummano, near Pistoja, as
used on the Duomo and Campanile, Florence. =G=, Pietra Serena. =H=,
Cipollino. =I=, True Touchstone or Basanite. =J=, White Statuary
Marble from Monte Altissimo. =K=, Bardiglio, or Grey Marble, from La
Cappella, near Seravezza. =L=, Istrian Stone. =M=, Pietra Forte.
=N=, Do. from Fortezza, Florence. =O=, Travertine. =P=, So-called
“Paragone,” a grey marble with lighter veins. =Q=, Peperino, from
Rome.
]

VASARI ON TECHNIQUE
BEING THE INTRODUCTION TO THE THREE ARTS OF DESIGN, ARCHITECTURE,
SCULPTURE AND PAINTING, PREFIXED TO THE LIVES OF THE MOST EXCELLENT
PAINTERS, SCULPTORS AND ARCHITECTS

By GIORGIO VASARI
PAINTER & ARCHITECT OF AREZZO

NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY

LOUISA S. MACLEHOSE

EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION & NOTES BY
PROFESSOR G. BALDWIN BROWN

AND PUBLISHED BY
J. M. DENT & COMPANY
29 & 30 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON
1907

GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.

TO THE MEMORY OF

A BROTHER AND DEAR FRIEND

ROBERT MACLEHOSE, M.A.

OBIIT APRIL 18, 1907

PREFATORY NOTE

The title page indicates the general responsibility for the different
parts of the work now offered to the reader. It should be said however
that the editor has revised the translation especially in those portions
which deal with technical matters, while the translator has contributed
to the matter incorporated in the Notes. The translation was in great
part written during a sojourn near Florence, and opportunity was taken
to elucidate some of the author’s expressions by conversation with
Italian artificers and with scholars conversant with the Tuscan idiom.

The text has been translated without omissions, and the rendering has
been made as literal as is consistent with clearness and with a
reasonable regard for the English tongue. In the two editions issued in
Vasari’s lifetime the chapters are numbered continuously from one to
thirty-five through the three divisions of the work, but in more modern
editions each division has its chapters separately numbered. The latter
arrangement has been followed, but the continuous numbers of the
chapters have been added in brackets. With the view of assisting the
reader the text has also been broken up into numbered sections, each
with its heading, though there is no arrangement of the kind in the
original.

The shorter notes at the foot of the pages are intended to explain the
author’s meaning, which is not always very clear, and to help to
identify and localize buildings and objects mentioned in the text. A
certain number of the notes, the longer of which have been placed at the
ends of the three divisions, afford an opportunity for discussing more
general questions of historical or aesthetic interest raised by Vasari.

A number of plates and figures in the text have been added, some of
which are illustrative of Vasari’s descriptions, while others give
representations of unpublished objects, and examples of the different
kinds of artistic work included in the scope of the treatise. Our
acknowledgements for permission to reproduce are due to the authorities
of the Print-Room, British Museum, and the National Art Library; to
Signor Giacomo Brogi at Florence; and to others to whom we have
expressed our thanks in the text.

Vasari’s unit of measurement is the ‘braccio,’ and this term has been
retained in place of the more familiar English equivalent ‘cubit.’
Vasari’s braccio seems to be equal to about twenty-three inches or
fifty-eight centimetres. This equation is given by Aurelio Gotti, and
agrees with various dimensions Vasari ascribes to monuments that can now
be measured. A smaller unit is the ‘palmo,’ and this is not, as might be
supposed, the breadth of a hand, but what we should rather call a
‘span,’ that is the space that can be covered by a hand trying to
stretch an octave, and may be reckoned at about nine inches.

In the matter of proper names, Vasari’s own forms have in most cases
been followed in the text, but not necessarily in the commentary.

There are some passages in which we suspect that the printed text does
not exactly correspond with what Vasari originally wrote (see Index
_s.v._ ‘Text’), but no help is to be obtained here from any known MS.
sources. Vasari gives us to understand that the original edition of the
_Lives_ was printed, not from his own autograph, but from a transcript
made for him by a monastic calligraphist, placed at his disposal by a
friendly abbot who also corrected to some extent the text. Neither this
transcript, nor any MS. of the additions made for the second edition of
the work, is known to exist, and textual criticism has to be confined to
a comparison of the printed texts of the two editions published in
Vasari’s own lifetime.

The character of the subject matter and the multiplicity of the
processes and materials passed in review have rendered it needful to
invoke the aid of many Italian scholars and experts in historical and
technical matters, who have met our applications with a courteous
readiness to help for which we desire to express our sincere gratitude.
Our obligations to each of these are expressed in the notes, but we
cannot close this preface without a special word of thanks to Signor
Agnoletti, of the University of Glasgow, and to the Rev. Don Vittorio
Rossi, Priore of Settignano. Our acknowledgements are also due to Mr G.
K. Fortescue, Keeper of Printed Books at the British Museum; Mr G. H.
Palmer, of the National Art Library; Comm. Conte D. Gnoli, Biblioteca
Vittorio Emanuele, Rome; Comm. Dottore Guido Biagi, Biblioteca Medicea
Laurenziana, Florence; Dr Thomas Ashby, Director of the British School
at Rome; and Mr John Kinross, R.S.A. To many artists and connoisseurs in
this country whom we have consulted on technical points we are indebted
for information not easily to be found in books, and to Mr W. Brindley a
special tribute is due for the kindness with which he has opened to us
his unique stores of practical knowledge of stones and quarries.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE
PREFATORY NOTE, vii

TABLE OF CONTENTS, xi

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, xxi

INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, 1

OF ARCHITECTURE, 23

CHAPTER I.

Of the different kinds of Stone which are used by Architects for
ornamental details, and in Sculpture for Statues; that is, Of
Porphyry, Serpentine, Cipollaccio, Breccia, Granites, Paragon or
Test-stone, Transparent Marbles, White Marbles and Veined Marbles,
Cipollini, Saligni, Campanini, Travertine, Slate, Peperigno,
Ischia Stone, Pietra Serena and Pietra Forte, 25

§ 1. _The Author’s object in the Discussion of Architecture_
(25). § 2. _Of the working of hard stones, and first of Porphyry_
(26). § 3. _Of Serpentine_ (35). § 4. _Of Cipollaccio_ (36). § 5.
_Of Breccia (‘Mischio,’ Conglomerate)_ (37). § 6. _Of Granite_
(39). § 7. _Of Paragon (Touchstone)_ (42). § 8. _Of Transparent
Marbles for filling window openings_ (43). § 9. _Of Statuary
Marbles_ (43). § 10. _Of Cipollino Marble_ (49). § 11. _Of White
Pisan Marble_ (50). § 12. _Of Travertine_ (51). § 13. _Of Slates_
(54). § 14. _Of Peperino_ (55). § 15. _Of the Stone from Istria_
(56). § 16. _Of Pietra Serena_ (57). § 17. _Of Pietra Forte_ (60).
§ 18. _Conclusion of Chapter_ (61).

CHAPTER II.

The Description of squared Ashlar-work (lavoro di quadro) and of
carved Ashlar-work (lavoro di quadro intagliato), 63

§ 19. _The work of the Mason_ (63).

CHAPTER III.

Concerning the five Orders of Architecture, Rustic, Doric, Ionic,
Corinthian, Composite, and also German Work, 65

§ 20. _Rusticated masonry and the Tuscan Order_(65). § 21. _The Doric
Order_ (68). § 22. _A constructive device to avoid charging
architraves_ (72). § 23. _The proportions and parts of the Doric Order_
(75). § 24. _The Ionic Order_ (78). § 25. _The Corinthian Order_ (79).
§ 26. _The Composite Order_ (80). § 27. _Of Terminal figures_ (82). §
28. _German Work (the Gothic Style)_ (83).

CHAPTER IV.

On forming Vaults in Concrete, to be impressed with Enrichment:
when the Centerings are to be removed, and how to mix the Plaster, 85

§ 29. _The Construction of enriched Stucco Vaults_ (85). § 30.
_Stucco made with Marble Dust_ (86).

CHAPTER V.

How Rustic Fountains are made with Stalactites and Incrustations
from water, and how Cockle Shells and Conglomerations of vitrified
stone are built into the Stucco, 87

§ 31. _Grottoes and Fountains of ‘Rocaille’ work_ (87).

CHAPTER VI.

On the manner of making Pavements of Tesselated Work, 91

§ 32. _Mosaic pavements_ (91). § 33. _Pictorial Mosaics for
Walls, etc._ (93).

CHAPTER VII.

How one is to recognize if a Building have good Proportions, and
of what Members it should generally be composed, 95

§ 34. _The Principles of Planning and Design_ (95). § 35. _An
Ideal Palace_ (96).

NOTES ON ‘INTRODUCTION’ TO ARCHITECTURE, 99

PORPHYRY AND PORPHYRY QUARRIES, 101

THE SASSI, DELLA VALLE, AND OTHER COLLECTIONS OF ANTIQUES OF THE
EARLY PART OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY, 102

THE PORPHYRY TAZZA OF THE SALA ROTONDA OF THE VATICAN, 108

FRANCESCO DEL TADDA, AND THE REVIVAL OF SCULPTURE IN PORPHYRY, 110

THE CORTILE OF THE BELVEDERE IN THE VATICAN, IN THE SIXTEENTH
CENTURY, 115

PARAGON (TOUCHSTONE) AND OTHER STONES ASSOCIATED WITH IT BY
VASARI, 117

TUSCAN MARBLE QUARRIES, 119

THE ROUND TEMPLE ON THE PIAZZA S. LUIGI DEI FRANCESI, AND
‘MAESTRO GIAN,’ 128

RUSTICATED MASONRY, 132

VASARI’S OPINION ON MEDIAEVAL ARCHITECTURE, 133

EGG-SHELL MOSAIC, 136

IDEAL ARCHITECTURE; AN IDEAL PALACE, 138

OF SCULPTURE, 141

CHAPTER I. (VIII.)

What Sculpture is; how good works of Sculpture are made, and what
qualities they must possess to be esteemed perfect, 143

§ 36. _The Nature of Sculpture_ (143). § 37. _Qualities
necessary for Work in the Round_ (143). § 38. _Works of Sculpture
should be treated with a view to their destined position_ (145). §
39. _The Proportions of the Human Figure_ (146). § 40. _Artists
must depend on their Judgement rather than on the Measuring Rule_
(146).

CHAPTER II. (IX.)

Of the manner of making Models in Wax and in Clay; how they are
draped, and how they are afterwards enlarged in proportion in the
Marble; how Marbles are worked with the point and the toothed
tool, and are rubbed with pumice stone and polished till they are
perfect, 148

§ 41. _The small Sketch-Model in Wax or Clay_ (148). § 42. _The
Preparation of Wax_ (148). § 43. _Polychrome Wax Effigies_ (149).
§ 44. _The Manipulation of Wax over an Armature_ (149). § 45. _The
Small Model in Clay_ (149). § 46. _The Full-sized Model in Clay_
(150). § 47. _Drapery on the Clay Model_ (150). § 48.
_Transference of the Full-sized Model to the Marble Block_ (151).
§ 49. _Danger of dispensing with the Full-sized Model_ (151). §
50. _The Tools and Materials used in Marble Carving_ (152).

CHAPTER III. (X.)

Of Low and Half Reliefs, the difficulty of making them and how to
bring them to perfection, 154

§ 51. _The Origin of Reliefs_ (154). § 52. _Pictorial or
Perspective Reliefs_ (154). § 53. _Low Reliefs (Bassi Rilievi)_
(156). § 54. _Flat Reliefs (Stiacciati Rilievi)_ (156).

CHAPTER IV. (XI.)

How Models for large and small Bronze Figures are made, with the
Moulds for casting them and their Armatures of iron; and how they
are cast in metal and in three sorts of Bronze; and how after they
are cast they are chased and refined; and how, if they lack pieces
that did not come out in the cast, these are grafted and joined in
the same bronze, 158

§ 55. _The Full-sized Model for Bronze_ (158). § 56. _The
Piece-Mould in Plaster_ (158). § 57. _The Construction of the
Core_ (159). § 58. _The Piece-Mould lined with a Skin of Wax_
(160). § 59. _This Skin of Wax applied over the Core_ (160). § 60.
_The fire-resisting Envelope applied over the Wax_ (161). § 61.
_The External Armature_ (162). § 62. _The Vents_ (162). § 63. _The
Wax melted out_ (162). § 64. _The Mould in the Casting-pit_ (163).
§ 65. _The Composition of the Bronze_ (163). § 66. _Making up
Imperfections_ (164). § 67. _A simpler Method of Casting small
Figures and Reliefs_ (165). § 68. _Chasing the Cast and Colouring
the Bronze_ (165). § 69. _Modern Tours de Force in small Castings_
(166).

CHAPTER V. (XII.)

Concerning Steel Dies for making Medals of bronze or other metals
and how the latter are formed from these metals and from Oriental
Stones and Cameos, 167

§ 70. _The Fabrication of Matrices for Medals_ (167). § 71. _The
Cutting of Intaglios and Cameos_ (168).

CHAPTER VI. (XIII.)

How works in White Stucco are executed, and of the manner of
preparing the Wall underneath for them, and how the work is
carried out, 170

§ 72. _Modelled and stamped Plaster Work_ (170).

CHAPTER VII. (XIV.)

How Figures in Wood are executed and of what sort of Wood is best
for the purpose, 173

§ 73. _Wood Carving_ (173).

NOTES ON ‘INTRODUCTION’ TO SCULPTURE, 177

THE NATURE OF SCULPTURE, 179

SCULPTURE TREATED FOR POSITION, 180

WAXEN EFFIGIES AND MEDALLIONS, 188

PROPORTIONATE ENLARGEMENT, 190

THE USE OF FULL-SIZED MODELS, 192

ITALIAN AND GREEK RELIEFS, 196

THE PROCESSES OF THE BRONZE FOUNDER, 199

OF PAINTING, 203

CHAPTER I. (XV.)

What Design is, and how good Pictures are made and known, and
concerning the invention of Compositions, 205

§ 74. _The Nature and Materials of Design or Drawing_ (205). §
75. _Use of Design (or Drawing) in the various Arts_ (206). § 76.
_On the Nature of Painting_ (208).

CHAPTER II. (XVI.)

Of Sketches, Drawings, Cartoons, and Schemes of Perspective; how
they are made, and to what use they are put by the Painters, 212

§ 77. _Sketches, Drawings, and Cartoons of different kinds_
(212). § 78. _The Use of Cartoons in Mural and Panel Painting_
(215).

CHAPTER III. (XVII.)

Of the Foreshortening of Figures looked at from beneath, and of
those on the Level, 216

§ 79. _Foreshortenings_ (216).

CHAPTER IV. (XVIII.)

How Colours in oil painting, in fresco, or in tempera should be
blended: and how the Flesh, the Draperies and all that is depicted
come to be harmonized in the work in such a manner that the
figures do not appear cut up, and stand out well and forcibly and
show the work to be clear and comprehensible, 218

§ 80. _On Colouring_ (218).

CHAPTER V. (XIX.)

Of Painting on the Wall, how it is done, and why it is called
Working in Fresco, 221

§ 81. _The Fresco process_ (221).

CHAPTER VI. (XX.)

Of Painting in Tempera, or with egg, on Panel or Canvas, and how
it is employed on the wall which is dry, 223

§ 82. _Painting in Tempera_ (223).

CHAPTER VII. (XXI.)

Of Painting in Oil on Panel or on Canvas, 226

§ 83. _Oil Painting, its Discovery and Early History_ (226). §
84. _How to Prime the Panel or Canvas_ (230). § 85. _Drawing, by
transfer or directly_ (231).

CHAPTER VIII. (XXII.)

Of Painting in Oil on a Wall which is dry, 232

§ 86. _Mural Painting in Oil_ (232). § 87. _Vasari’s own Method_
(233).

CHAPTER IX. (XXIII.)

Of Painting in Oil on Canvas, 236

§ 88. _Painting on Canvas_ (236).

CHAPTER X. (XXIV.)

Of painting in Oil on Stone, and what stones are good for the
purpose, 238

§ 89. _Oil Painting on Stone_ (238).

CHAPTER XI. (XXV.)

Of Painting on the wall in Monochrome with various earths: how
objects in bronze are imitated: and of groups for Triumphal Arches
or festal structures, done with powdered earths mixed with size,
which process is called Gouache and Tempera, 240

§ 90. _Imitative Paintings for Decorations_ (240).

CHAPTER XII. (XXVI.)

Of the Sgraffiti for house decoration which withstand water; that
which is used in their production; and how Grotesques are worked
on the wall, 243

§ 91. _Sgraffito-work_ (243). § 92. _Grotesques, or Fanciful
Devices, painted or modelled on Walls_ (244).

CHAPTER XIII. (XXVII.)

How Grotesques are worked on the Stucco, 246

CHAPTER XIV. (XXVIII.)

Of the manner of applying Gold on a Bolus, or with a Mordant, and
other methods, 248

§ 93. _Methods of Gilding_ (248).

CHAPTER XV. (XXIX.)

Of Glass Mosaic and how it is recognized as good and praiseworthy, 251

§ 94. _Glass Mosaics_ (251). § 95. _The Preparation of the
Mosaic Cubes_ (253). § 96. _The Fixing of the Mosaic Cubes_ (255).

CHAPTER XVI. (XXX.)

Concerning the Compositions and Figures made in Inlaid Work on
Pavements in imitation of objects in Monochrome, 258

§ 97. _Pavements in Marble Mosaic and Monochrome_ (258). § 98.
_Pavements in Variegated Tiles_ (260). § 99. _Pavements in Breccia
Marble_ (261).

CHAPTER XVII. (XXXI.)

Of Mosaic in Wood, that is, of Tarsia; and of the Compositions
that are made in Tinted Woods, fitted together after the manner of
a picture, 262

§ 100. _Inlays in Wood_ (262).

CHAPTER XVIII. (XXXII.)

On Painting Glass Windows and how they are put together with Leads
and supported with Irons so as not to interfere with the view of
the figures, 265

§ 101. _Stained Glass Windows, their Origin and History_ (265).
§ 102. _The Technique of the Stained Glass Window_ (268).

CHAPTER XIX. (XXXIII.)

Of Niello, and how by this process we have Copper Prints; and how
Silver is engraved to make Enamels over Bas-relief, and in like
manner how Gold and Silver Plate is chased, 273

§ 103. _Niello Work_ (273). § 104. _The Origin of Engraving_
(274). § 105. _Enamels over Reliefs_ (276).

CHAPTER XX. (XXXIV.)

Of Tausia, that is, work called Damascening, 279

§ 106. _Metal Inlays_ (279).

CHAPTER XXI. (XXXV.)

Of Wood Engraving and the method of executing it and concerning
its first Inventor: how Sheets which appear to be drawn by hand
and exhibit Lights and Half-tones and Shades, are produced with
three Blocks of Wood, 281

§ 107. _Chiaroscuro Wood Engravings_ (281). § 108. _Dependence
on Design of the Decorative Arts_ (284).

NOTES ON ‘INTRODUCTION’ TO PAINTING, 285

FRESCO PAINTING, 287

TEMPERA PAINTING, 291

OIL PAINTING, 294

ENRICHED FAÇADES, 298

STUCCO ‘GROTESQUES,’ 299

TARSIA WORK, OR WOOD INLAYS, 303

THE STAINED GLASS WINDOW, 308

VASARI’S DESCRIPTION OF ENAMEL WORK, 311

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

INSERTED PLATES

SPECIMENS OF STONES MENTIONED BY VASARI. (Reproduction
in colour of a drawing by the Editor.) Frontispiece.

PORTRAIT OF VASARI, FROM THE EDITION OF 1568. Probably Tail-piece to
by a German artist called in Italy ‘Cristoforo List of
Coriolano.’ Illustrations.

Plate I. LEO X WITH HIS CARDINALS. Mural Painting by
Vasari in the Palazzo Vecchio, Florence. (From a
photograph by Alinari.) To face p. 17

Plate II. PRINCIPAL DOORWAY AT S. MARIA NOVELLA,
FLORENCE, showing the position of the inscribed
porphyry tablet on the riser of the step. (From a
photograph by Alinari.) To face p. 32

Plate III. PORTRAIT IN PORPHYRY OF COSIMO ‘PATER
PATRIAE,’ BY FRANCESCO DEL TADDA, in the Magazines of
the National Museum, Florence. (From a photograph by
the Editor.) Unpublished. To face p. 34

Plate IV. INTERIOR OF GROTTO IN BOBOLI GARDENS,
FLORENCE, showing an unfinished statue ascribed to
Michelangelo. (From a photograph by the Editor.) To face p. 90

Plate V. PORTRAIT IN PORPHYRY OF LEO X, BY FRANCESCO DEL
TADDA, in the Magazines of the National Museum,
Florence. (From a photograph by the Editor.)
Unpublished. To face p. 114

Plate VI. SALAMANDER CARVED IN TRAVERTINE, on the Façade
of S. Luigi dei Francesi, Rome. The work of a French
artist ‘Maestro Gian.’ (From a photograph by the
Editor.) Unpublished. To face p. 132

Plate VII. ILLUSTRATION SHOWING PROCESS OF
PIECE-MOULDING IN PLASTER. (From the French
_Encyclopédie_.) To face p. 160

Plate VIII. ENGRAVINGS ILLUSTRATING THE PROCESS OF
CASTING IN BRONZE. (From the French _Encyclopédie_.) To face p. 164

Plate IX. STATUE OF S. ROCCO CARVED IN LIMEWOOD, by a
French artist ‘Maestro Janni,’ in the Church of the
Annunziata, Florence. (From a drawing by Robert J.
Rose.) Unpublished. To face p. 176

Plate X. _A._ INTERIOR OF A SCULPTOR’S STUDIO IN THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, with illustrations of the methods
of measurement then in vogue. (From the French
_Encyclopédie_.)
_B._ DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE LEON BATTISTA ALBERTI’S
METHOD OF MEASUREMENT. To face p. 192

Plate XI. SPECIMEN OF SO-CALLED ‘SGRAFFITO’ DECORATION,
on the exterior of the Palazzo Montalvo, Florence.
(From a photograph by Alinari.) To face p. 244

Plate XII. PORTION OF THE DECORATION OF THE LOGGIE OF
THE VATICAN, by Raphael and his assistants.
(Reproduced in colour from a hand-painted example of
the engravings of about 1770–80 by Ottaviani and
Volpato, in the National Art Library.) To face p. 248

Plate XIII. SPECIMEN OF NIELLO WORK. A ‘Pax,’ formerly
in the Baptistry, and now in the National Museum,
Florence. (From a photograph by Alinari.) To face p. 274

Plate XIV. CHIAROSCURO WOOD-ENGRAVING BY UGO DA CARPI,
in the Print-Room, British Museum. Subject: ‘Jacob’s
Dream,’ after Raphael. To face p. 282

Plate XV. HEAD OF MARY, FROM LUINI’S FRESCO OF THE
‘MARRIAGE OF THE VIRGIN’ AT SARONNO. (From a
photograph by Giacomo Brogi.) To illustrate the fresco
technique. To face p. 290

Plate XVI. EXAMPLE OF TARSIA WORK. S. Zenobi, by
Giuliano da Majano, in Opera del Duomo, Florence.
(From a photograph by Alinari.) To face p. 306

Plate XVII. PAINTED GLASS WINDOW IN THE LAURENTIAN
LIBRARY, FLORENCE. (From a photograph by Alinari.) To face p. 310

FIGURES IN THE TEXT

Fig. 1. Inscribed Porphyry Tablet at S. Maria Novella,
Florence. (Drawn from a photograph by the Editor.) p. 31

Fig. 2. Tools mentioned by Vasari, etc. (From drawings
by the Translator and Editor.) p. 48

Fig. 3. Fortezza da Basso at Florence. (Drawn from a
photograph by the Editor.) p. 67

Fig. 4. Rusticated masonry on the exterior of the
Fortezza da Basso at Florence. (Measured drawing by
the Editor.) p. 69

Fig. 5. Construction of the Portico of the Uffizi at
Florence, from Vasari’s description. (Drawn by the
Editor.) p. 71

Fig. 6. Drawing of the remains of the Basilica Aemilia
in the Forum at Rome, that survived to the time of
Vasari. (After Giuliano da San Gallo, in _Monumenti
del Istituto_, XII, T. 11, 12.) p. 77

Fig. 7. Roman Doric Cap, with Stucco Finish, at S.
Nicola in Carcere, Rome. (From _Mitteilungen d. k.
deutschen archeologischen Instituts_, XXI.) p. 78

Fig. 8. Portion of a Plan of Rome, before recent
alterations, from Nolli, _Nuova Pianta di Roma_, 1748. p. 105

Fig. 9. Sketch of shape of the large porphyry Tazza in
the Sala Rotonda of the Vatican. p. 109

Fig. 10. Sketch map of the marble-producing districts of
the Apuan Alps. p. 121

Fig. 11. Two views of unfinished Greek marble statue
blocked out on the ancient system. In quarries on
Mount Pentelicus, Athens. (From a photograph kindly
furnished by M. Georges Nicole.) p. 193

[Illustration:

PORTRAIT OF VASARI, FROM THE EDITION OF 1568,
probably by a German artist, called in Italy ‘Cristoforo Coriolano’.
]

INTRODUCTORY ESSAY

When Vasari published in 1550 his famous _Lives of the Artists_, he
prefixed to the work an Introduction, divided into three parts headed
respectively Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting. In the text of the
_Lives_ he refers more than once to this preliminary matter under the
terms ‘parte teorica’ and ‘capitoli delle teoriche,’ but as a fact it
only consists to a small extent in ‘theory,’ that is in aesthetic
discussions on the general character of the arts and the principles that
underlie them. The chief interest of the chapters is technical. They
contain practical directions about materials and processes, intended in
the first place to enlighten the general reader on subjects about which
he is usually but little informed; and in the second, to assist those
actually engaged in the operations of the arts.

To some of the readers of the original issue of Vasari’s work these
technical chapters proved of special interest, for we find a Flemish
correspondent writing to him to say that on the strength of the
information therein contained he had made practical essays in art, not
wholly without success. This same correspondent, as Vasari tells us in
the chapter on Flemish artists at the end of the _Lives_, hearing that
the work was to be reprinted, wrote in the name of many of his
compatriots to urge Vasari to prefix to the new edition a more extended
disquisition on sculpture, painting, and architecture, with illustrative
designs, so as to enforce the rules of art after the fashion of Alberti,
Albrecht Dürer, and other artists. This seemed however to Vasari to
involve too great an alteration in the scheme of his work, and in the
edition of 1568 he preserved the original form of the Introduction,
though he incorporated with it considerable additions. It is worth
noting that the increase is chiefly in the earlier part, as if Vasari
began his revision with the intention of carrying out the suggestion of
his correspondents, but gave up the idea of substantial enlargement as
he went on. For example the first chapter in the ‘Introduction’ to
Architecture is half as long again in the second as in the first
edition, and Architecture generally is increased by a third part, while
in Sculpture the additions are trifling. The total additions amount to
nearly one seventh of the whole. The matter thus added is in general
illustrative of the previous text, and adduces further examples of work
under review. It is this extended Introduction of the second, or 1568,
edition, which is now completely translated and issued with the needful
commentary.

The reputation of the writer and the value of his world-renowned
biographies naturally give importance to matter which he has
deliberately prefixed to these, and it is somewhat surprising that
though the text has been constantly printed it has not been annotated,
and that it has never yet been rendered as a whole into English, nor, as
far as can be ascertained, into any other European language.

Ernst Berger, in his learned and valuable _Beiträge zur
Entwicklungs-Geschichte der Maltechnik_, vierte Folge, München, 1901,
does justice to Vasari’s Treatise, of which, as he says, ‘the
thirty-five chapters contain a complete survey of the manual activities
of the time, in connection with which Vasari gives us very important
information on the condition of technique in the sixteenth century,’ and
he translates the chapters relating to painting with one or two useful
notes. There was apparently an intention of editing Vasari’s
Introduction in the Vienna series of Technical Treatises
(Quellenschriften) but the project was not carried out. Anglo-Saxon
readers will note that the chapters do not appear in the classic English
translation by Mrs Jonathan Foster, nor in the American reprint of
selected Lives lately edited with annotations by Blashfield and Hopkins;
they are omitted also from the French translation by Leclanché, and from
that into German by Ludwig Schorn. Mrs Foster explains that she only
meant to translate the _Lives_ and not Vasari’s ‘other works’; while the
German editor, though he admits the value of the technical chapters to
the artist, thinks that the latter ‘would have in any case to go to the
original because many of the technical terms would not be intelligible
in translation.’

On this it may be remarked that the chapters in question are not ‘other
works’ in the sense in which we should use the term in connection with
Vasari’s _Letters_, and the ‘_Ragionamenti_,’ or description of his own
performances in the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, that are all printed by
Milanesi in the Sansoni edition of Vasari’s works. The chapters are
distinctly a part, and a valuable part, of the main work of the author,
and it is difficult to see any valid reason why they should ever have
been dissociated from it. With regard to the reason for omission given
by the German editor, surely the resources of the translator’s art are
not so limited as he supposed! It may be claimed, at any rate, that in
what follows a conscientious effort has been made to find technical
terms in English equivalent to Vasari’s, and yet intelligible to the
reader. Where such terms do not seem to be clear, a footnote has been
added in explanation.

It is probable that the real reason of the neglect of Vasari’s
Introduction by his translators has been the fact that when these
translations were made, more than half-a-century ago, not much interest
was taken by the reading public in the technical processes of the arts,
and this part of Vasari’s work was passed over in order not to delay the
reader anxious for the biographical details the author presents in so
lively a fashion. At the present time, largely as a result of the
inspiring influence of William Morris alike upon the craftsmen and the
artistic public, people have been generally awakened to the interest and
importance of these questions of technique, and a new translator of
Vasari would certainly not be betrayed into this omission. The present
translation and commentary may therefore claim to fill a gap that ought
never to have been suffered to exist, and on this ground to need no
explanation nor apology. Some English writers on the technique of the
arts, such as Mrs Merrifield and the late G. T. Robinson, have made
considerable use of the material that Vasari has placed before students
in these Introductory Chapters, and the practical service that they have
thus rendered is an additional reason why they should be brought as a
whole in convenient form before English readers.

Readers familiar with Vasari’s _Lives_ will miss in the technical
Introduction much of the charm and liveliness of style in which they
have been wont to delight. Vasari indeed had a natural gift for
biographical writing. He had a sense of light and shade and of contrast
in colouring that animates his literary pictures, and is the secret of
the fascination of his work, while it explains at the same time some of
its acknowledged defects. Above all things he will have variety. If one
artist have been presented to the reader of the _Lives_ as a man of the
world in constant touch with his fellows, the next artist who comes
forward on the stage is a recluse. If one be open and free, another is
secretive and brooding; the artist jealous of his brother’s fame and
envious of his secrets is contrasted with the genial companion ready to
impart all he knows to his less fortunate compeer. In bringing out these
picturesque comparisons, the writer sometimes forces the note, and is a
little more regardful of effect than of strict biographical accuracy,[1]
and this accounts for some of the censure which in the modern critical
age has fallen to the lot of the Aretine.

The technical disquisitions in the Introduction afford little
opportunity for picturesque writing of this kind, and they must be
judged from another standpoint. They have certain obvious defects that
are however counterbalanced by qualities of much value. Vasari’s
treatment in many parts lacks system and completeness, his statement is
wanting in clearness, his aesthetic comments are often _banal_. On the
other hand there are sections or chapters of great, even enthralling,
interest, as when he discourses with all a Florentine’s enthusiasm on
the virile and decided handling of a master in fresco painting; or lets
us follow step by step from the small sketch to the finished casting the
whole process of making a great bronze statue. Throughout the treatise
moreover, we have the advantage of hearing a practical craftsman
speaking about the processes and materials with which he is himself
familiar, for Vasari, though he did not put his own hand to nearly all
the kinds of work he describes, yet was all his life a professional, in
intimate touch with craftsmen in every branch of artistic production. If
he did not make painted glass windows, he at any rate designed for them.
His mural work involved modelled and stamped plaster enrichment and wood
carving, while his sections on different processes of decoration for
temporary purposes derive a personal interest from the fact that the
writer was a famous expert in the construction and adornment of showy
fabrics for pageants and state entries, of which his own letters give us
many details. If he be unavoidably tedious in his description of the
Orders of Architecture, he enlivens this by a digression on his own
devices in the masonry of the Uffizi palace. The august figure of
Michelangelo sometimes crosses the page, and in the midst of the rather
copious eulogies of which Vasari is lavish, we find here and there some
record of a word or work of Buonarroti which reminds us of the author’s
intimate personal relation to the master whom he calls in a letter ‘il
mio rarissimo e divinissimo Vecchio.’

Vasari’s general intention in this Introduction he explains at the close
of the ‘Proemio’ to the whole work that precedes the technical chapters.
The Introduction is primarily to instruct ‘every gracious spirit in the
most noble matters that appertain to the artistic professions’; and next
in order, ‘for his delight and service, to give him to know in what
qualities the various masters differed among themselves, and how they
adorned and how they benefitted each in his own way their country’; and
finally to enable any one that wills to gain advantage from the labour
and cunning of those who in times past have excelled in the arts.
Architecture will be shown to be the most universal, the most necessary,
and the most useful of human arts, for whose service and adornment the
other two arts exist; the different qualities of stones will be
demonstrated, with the styles of building and their proper proportions,
and the characteristics of good designs and good construction. Next in
order comes Sculpture, and here will be shown the manner of working
statues, in their correct forms and proportions, and the qualities that
make sculpture good, ‘with all the directions for work that are most
secret and most precious.’ Lastly, the treatment of Painting will
include design; the methods of colouring and of carrying out a picture;
the characteristics of painting and its subordinate branches, with
mosaics of every sort, niello work, enamels, damascening, and finally
engravings after pictures.

Vasari’s treatise does not stand alone but is only one among many
technical and theoretical essays which have come down to us from various
epochs both of the middle ages and of the Renaissance. The nature and
the value of it will be best understood if we compare it with one or two
representative publications of a similar kind, contemporary with it or
of earlier date. The comparison will serve to show the spirit in which
Vasari writes, and to exhibit the strong and the weak points in his
work.

About the middle of the last century, a number of technical treatises
and collections of recipes, from MSS. of the twelfth to the eighteenth
centuries, were edited and published by Mrs Merrifield, and the acumen
and accuracy with which she fulfilled her laborious task are warmly
eulogized by Dr Albert Ilg, the learned editor of Theophilus and Cennini
in the Vienna _Quellenschriften_. The most important of existing
treatises of the kind are however not included in Mrs Merrifield’s work,
though they have been translated and edited separately both by her and
by other scholars. The recent publication by Ernst Berger noticed above
gives the most complete account of all this technical literature. Those
of the early treatises or tracts that consist in little more than
collections of recipes need not detain us, and the only works of which
we need here take account are the following: (1) The _Schedula
Diversarum Artium_ of Theophilus, a compendium of the decorative arts as
they were practised in the mediaeval monastery, drawn up by a German
monk of the eleventh or twelfth century; (2) _Il Libro dell’ Arte, o
Trattato della Pittura_ of the Florentine painter Cennino Cennini,
written in the early part of the fifteenth century; (3) The _De Re
Aedificatoria_ and the tracts _Della Pittura_ and _Della Scultura_,
written rather later and in quite a different vein, by the famous
Florentine humanist and artist Leon Battista Alberti; (4) Benvenuto
Cellini’s treatises, _Sopra l’ Oreficeria e la Scultura_, that belong to
the same period as Vasari’s own Introduction, and partly cover the same
ground. There are later treatises, such as Borghini’s _Il Riposo_, 1584;
Armenini’s _Dei veri Precetti della Pittura_, 1587; Pacheco’s _Arte de
la Pintura_, 1649; Palomino’s _El Museo Pictorico_, etc., 1715–24, which
all contain matter of interest, but need not be specially noticed in
this place. Some of these later writers depend very largely on Vasari.

The fact just stated about the treatises of Cellini and Vasari suggests
the question whether the two are independent, or, if borrowing existed,
which treatise owes most to this adventitious aid. The dates of Vasari’s
two editions have already been given. Cellini’s two _Trattati_ first
appeared in 1568 the same year as Vasari’s second edition, and there
exists a second recension of his text which formed the basis of
Milanesi’s edition of 1857, republished in 1893. It is worth noting that
Vasari’s account of bronze casting, in which we should expect reliance
on Cellini, appears in full in the first edition of 1550, and the same
applies to the account of die-sinking. On the other hand Cellini’s
notice of the Tuscan building stones, pietra serena, etc., seems like a
clearer statement of what we find in Vasari’s edition of 1550. On the
whole it was Cellini who used Vasari rather than Vasari Cellini, though
the tracts can be regarded as practically independent. The _Trattati_ of
Cellini are really complementary to Vasari’s ‘Introductions.’

Vasari, as he says of himself, was painter and architect, while Cellini
was sculptor and worker in metal. In matters like die-sinking, niello
work, enamelling, and the making of medals, Cellini gives the fuller and
more practical information, for these were not exactly in the province
of the Aretine, while Vasari on his side gives us much information,
especially on the processes of painting and on architectural subjects,
for which we look in vain to Cellini.

Allowing for these differences, the two treatises agree in the general
picture that they give of the artistic activity of their times, and they
faithfully reflect the spirit of the High Renaissance, when the arts
were made the instruments of a dazzling, even ostentatious, parade, in
which decadence was unmistakeably prefigured. From this point of view,
the point of view, that is, of the general artistic tone of an age, it
is interesting to draw a comparison between the spirit of the treatises
of Vasari and Cellini on the one side, and on the other the spirit of
the earlier writings already referred to. If the former bring us into
contact with the Renaissance in the heyday of its pride, the artistic
tractates of Alberti, of a century before, show us the Renaissance
movement in its strenuous youth, already self-conscious, but militant
and disposed to work rather than to enjoy. Cennini’s _Book of Art_,
though certainly written in the lifetime of Alberti, belongs in spirit
to the previous, that is to the fourteenth, century. It reflects the
life of the mediaeval guilds, when artist and craftsman were still one,
and the practice of the arts proceeded on traditional lines in urban
workshops where master and apprentices worked side by side on any
commissions that their fellow citizens chose to bring. Lastly the
_Schedula_ of the monk Theophilus introduces us into quite a different
atmosphere of art. Carrying us back for two hundred years, it shows us
art cultivated in an ascetic community in independence of patrons or
guilds or civic surroundings; on purely religious lines for the glory of
the Almighty and the fitting adornment of His house.

This treatise by Theophilus is by far the most interesting and valuable
of all those that have been named. No literary product of the middle
ages is more precious, for it reflects a side of mediaeval life of which
we should otherwise be imperfectly informed. Can it be possible, we ask
ourselves, that men vowed to religion in its most ascetic form, who had
turned their backs on the world’s vain shows and whose inward eye was to
see only the mystic light of vision, could devote time and care to the
minutiae of the craftsman’s technique? Such however was the fact. We
cannot read the first few pages of Theophilus without recognizing that
the religion of the writer was both sincere and fervent, and that such
religion seemed to him to find a natural outcome in art. Art moreover
with the German monk was essentially a matter of technique. From end to
end of the treatise there is comparatively little about art as
representative. Sculpture and painting indeed in the monastic period
were not capable of embodying the ideal, so as to produce on the
spectator the religious impression of a Madonna by Angelico or Raphael.
The art of the eleventh and twelfth centuries was decorative, and aimed
at an effect of beauty with an under suggestion of symbolism. Theophilus
troubles himself little about symbolism but bases everything on a
knowledge of materials and processes; and in the workshop, whose homely
construction and fittings he describes, we are invited to see the gold
and silver and bronze, the coloured earths, the glass stained with
metallic oxides, all taking shape in dainty and beautiful forms, and
coming together in discreet but opulent display, till, as he phrases it,
the Abbey Church which they bedeck and furnish ‘shall shine like the
garden of Paradise.’ For to the mind of the pious craftsman this church
is a microcosm. Creative skill has made it all beautiful within, and
this is the skill of man, but it is only his in so far as man shares the
nature of the Divine Artist that fashioned the vast macrocosm of the
universe. Artistic knowledge and craftsmanship are a part of the
original heritage of man as he was made in the image of God the creator,
and to win back this heritage by patient labour and contriving is a
religious duty, in the fulfilment of which the Holy Spirit will Himself
give constant aid. Theophilus enumerates from St. Paul the seven gifts
of the Spirit, and shows how the knowledge, the wisdom, the counsel, and
the might, thus imparted to men, all find a field of exercise in the
monastic workshop.

Cennino Cennini da Colle di Val d’ Elsa was not a devotee nor a man of
religion, but a city tradesman and employer of labour. Art in his time
had taken up its abode in the towns that were the seat of the artistic
activity of the Gothic period in France and the neighbouring countries.
It was there practised by laymen in secular surroundings, but as the
French Cathedrals and the work of Giotto and Simone Martini testify, on
religious subjects and in a spirit of piety. Some gleams of the
visionary light that irradiates the workshop of Theophilus fall across
the panels which Cennini and his apprentices smooth and clamp, and prime
with gesso, and paint with forms of the Madonna or the Crucified. In one
of his chapters he demands for the artist a chaste and almost ascetic
life, as of one who studies theology or philosophy, and again he bids
him clothe himself for his art with love and obedience, with patience
and godly fear. When beginning a delicate piece of manipulation Cennini
bids the worker ‘Invoke the name of God,’ and it is characteristic too
that he tells him that such work must not be executed in haste, but
‘with great affection and care.’ In the main however, Cennini’s treatise
is occupied with a description of the processes of painting traditional
in the school of Florence, that was dominated throughout the fourteenth
century by the commanding figure of Giotto. We learn from the _Trattato_
how walls were plastered and prepared for the mural painter, and can
measure how far the technical practice of fresco had at the time been
carried. Fresco painting, on which the reader will find a Note at the
close of the ‘Introduction’ to Painting, was only the revival of an art
familiar to the ancients, but the best form of the technique, called by
the Italians ‘buon fresco,’ was only completely recovered in the course
of the fifteenth century. In the school of Giotto, represented by
Cennini, the practice was as yet imperfect, but his account of it is
full of interest. Painting on panels and on the vellum of books he
thoroughly understands, and his notices of pigments and media convey
much valuable information. Amongst other things he seems quite _au fait_
in the practice of oil painting, which Vasari has made many generations
believe was an invention of the Flemish van Eyck.

The chief importance however of Cennini for the present purpose is to be
found in his implicit reliance on authority and tradition, in which he
contrasts most markedly, as we shall see, with his fellow-countryman and
successor, Leon Battista Alberti. Cennini had himself worked for twelve
years with Agnolo Gaddi the son of Taddeo Gaddi, for twenty-four years
the pupil and assistant of Giotto, and he warns the student against
changing his teacher, and so becoming, as he calls it, a ‘phantasist.’
To quote his own words, ‘do thou direct thy course by this rule
according to which I will instruct thee in the painter’s art, for Giotto
the great master himself followed it. Four and twenty years was Taddeo
Gaddi, the Florentine, his scholar; Taddeo’s son was Agnolo; Agnolo kept
me by him twelve years, during which he taught me to paint in this
manner,’ and he points the moral from his own experience, ‘At the
earliest moment you can, put yourself under the best master you can
find, and stay with him as long as you are able.’

Cennini, who seems to have been born about 1372, probably wrote his
_Trattato_ towards the close of his life, and there is MS. authority for
dating the tract _Della Pittura_ of Leon Battista Alberti about 1435, so
that the two works may have been composed within the same generation.
The contrast between them is however most striking. Cennini’s ideas are
wholly those of the fourteenth century, when guild traditions were
supreme over artistic practice; whereas Alberti is possessed by the
spirit of the Early Renaissance, of which he is indeed one of the most
representative figures. In his view the artist should base his life and
his work on the new humanistic culture of the age, and build up his art
on science and the study of nature and on the example of the masters of
antiquity. With regard to the last, the reader, who hears Alberti
invoking the legendary shades of Pheidias and Zeuxis and Apelles, may
suspect that a new authority is being set up in place of the old and
that the promised freedom for the arts is to be only in the name. It is
of course true that the reliance on classical models, which came into
fashion with the Revival of Learning, was destined in future times to
lie like an incubus on the arts, and to give an occasion for many famous
revolts; but these times were not yet, and with Alberti the appeal to
antiquity is little more than a fashion of speech. At other epochs, when
men have suddenly broken loose from some old-established authoritative
system, they have turned to the classical world for the support which
its sane and rationally based intellectual and political systems seemed
to offer. It was so at the time of the French Revolution, and so it was
earlier when the men of the fifteenth century were passing out from
under the shadow of mediaeval authority. Alberti seems to find
satisfaction in the thought of the existence of unquestionable models of
perfection in those classical masters whose names were current in
humanistic circles, but he makes but little practical use of them. It is
remarkable indeed how little direct influence in the essentials of art
was exercised over the Italian painting and sculpture of the fifteenth
century by the models of the past. Classical subjects come in by the
side of the more familiar religious themes, and accessories in pictures
are drawn largely from antique remains, but the influence does not
penetrate very deep. How little there is that is classical in the spirit
and even the form of the art of Donatello! How closely we have to scan
the work or the utterances of Leonardo to find a trace of the study of
Roman or Hellenic antiquity!

With Alberti, as with the humanists in art in general, the watchword was
‘Nature.’ As if with direct reference to what Cennini had said about
adhering to a chosen master, Alberti in the third book of his _Della
Pittura_, derides those who follow their predecessors so closely as to
copy all their errors. Equally at fault are those who work out of their
own head without proper models before them. The real mistress is nature.
Now ever since the beginning of the Italian revival the study of nature
had been set before the artist, and Cennini bids the craftsman never to
pass a day without making some drawing from a natural object. The study
of nature however, with Alberti and the masters of the Early
Renaissance, meant something more. The outward aspect of things was to
be narrowly observed, and he instances the effect of wind on the drapery
of figures, but underneath this outward aspect the artist was to explore
the inner structure upon which the external appearance depends. The nude
figure must be understood under the drapery, the skeleton and muscular
system beneath the integument. Then nature as a whole, that is to say,
figures and objects in their mutual relations, must be investigated, and
this on a basis of mathematical science. Alberti has a passion for
geometry, and begins his treatise with a study from this point of view
of visible surfaces. The relation of the eye to visual objects, and
especially the changes which these are seen to undergo in their sizes
and relations according as the eye is moved, lead on to the study of
perspective, on which science, as is well known, depended so much of the
advance in painting in the fifteenth century. Everything in a picture is
to be studied from actual persons or objects. It will add life and
actuality to a historical composition if some of the heads are copied
from living people who are generally known, but at the same time a
common sort of realism is to be avoided, for the aim of the artist
should not be mere truth to nature but beauty and dignity.

It is in his conception of the artist’s character and life that Alberti
is least mediaeval. Here, in the third book of _Della Pittura_, we see
emerging for the first time the familiar modern figure of the artist,
who, as scholar and gentleman, holds a place apart from and above the
artizanception inspires the interesting chapter, the tenth in the ninth
book, of Alberti’s more important treatise _De Re Aedificatoria_, where
he draws out the character of the ideal architect, who should be ‘a man
of fine genius, of a great application, of the best education, of
thorough experience and especially of sound sense and firm judgement.’
The Renaissance artist was indeed to fulfil the idea of a perfectible
human nature, the conception of which is the best gift of humanism to
the modern world. As sketched in _Della Pittura_, he was to be learned
in all the liberal arts, familiar with the creations of the poets,
accustomed to converse with rhetoricians, ‘a man and a good man and
versed in all good pursuits.’ He was to attract the admiring regard of
his fellows by his character and bearing, and to be marked among all for
grace and courtesy, for ‘it is the aim and end of the painter to seek to
win for himself through his works praise and favour and good-will,
rather than riches.’ Such a one, labouring with all diligence and
penetration on the study of nature and of science, would win his way to
the mastery possessed by the ancient painters, and would secure to
himself that fame so dear to the Italian heart!

In the hundred years that intervened between the life-courses of Alberti
and of Vasari, the Renaissance artist, whom the former describes in the
making, had become a finished product, and the practice of the arts was
a matter of easy routine. The artistic problems at which the men of the
fifteenth century had laboured so earnestly were solved; the materials
had become plastic to the craftsman’s will; the forms of nature were
known so well that they ceased to excite the curiosity which had set
Leonardo’s keenly sensitive nature on edge. At the time Vasari wrote,
with the exception of the Venetians and of Michelangelo, all the men of
genius who had created the art of the Renaissance had passed away, and
the busy workers whose multitudinous operations he watched and
chronicled were, like himself, only epigoni—successors of the great. We
have only to read Vasari’s eulogy of Michelangelo’s frescoes on the
vault of the Sistine, in his Life of that master, to see how far the
tone of the age in regard to art had changed from the time when Alberti
was exhorting the student to work out his own artistic salvation with
fear and trembling. ‘No one,’ exclaims Vasari, ‘who is a painter cares
now any more to look out for novelty in inventions or attitudes or
drapery, for new modes of expression, and for sublimity in all the
varied effects of art; seeing that all the perfection which it is
possible to give in work done in this fashion has been imparted to these
figures by Michelangelo.’ The cultivation of the Michelangelesque,
instead of the severe and patient study of nature, that Leonardo had
called ‘the mistress of all masters,’ marks the spirit of the Florentine
and Roman schools after the middle of the sixteenth century, and
Vasari’s own works in fresco and oil, hastily executed and on a vast
scale, but devoid alike of originality and of charm, are the most
effective exponents of the ideas of his time and school. At this epoch
the artist himself was no longer the dominant figure in the world of
art, nor was his struggle for self-perfection in the forefront of
interest for the spectator. The stage was rather commanded by the
patron, the Pope Leo, the Duke Cosimo or the Cardinal Farnese of the
day, at whose bidding the artist must run hither and thither, and leave
one task for another, till a delicate nature like Raphael’s or Perino
del Vaga’s fails under the strain, and the sublime genius of
Michelangelo is thwarted in its free expression. With the exception of
the Venetians, most of the more accomplished Italian masters of the
period were at work on commissions set them by these wealthy patrons,
who lorded it over their kind and made the arts subservient to their
temporal glory. For such Vasari himself was always contentedly busy on
buildings or frescoes or pageants, and for work of the kind demanded
nature had exactly equipped him. He was evidently embarrassed neither by
ideals nor by nerves, but was essentially business-like. Galluzzi in his
History of the Grand Dukes says of him that ‘to the qualities of his
profession he united a certain sagacity and alertness of spirit which
gave to Duke Cosimo considerable pleasure from his company.’ He was
distinguished above his fellows for the characteristic, not too common
among artists, of always working to time. He might scamp his work, but
he would by one method or another get it finished in accordance with his
contract. His powers of application must have been of a high order, for
we should remember that his literary output was by no means
inconsiderable, and with his busy life the wonder is not that he wrote
rather carelessly but that he was able to do any serious literary work
at all.

A favourable specimen of Vasari’s decorative painting is the fresco in
the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, given on Plate I. It represents Leo X
surrounded by his Cardinals, and introduces portraits of famous men of
the day. For instance, on the left above the balustrade in the upper
part of the fresco against the opening, will be observed four heads of
personages outside the conclave. That on the right is of Leonardo da
Vinci and the one on the left Michelangelo’s, while the two men with
covered heads who intervene are Giuliano de’ Medici, Duc de Nemours, and
his nephew Lorenzo de’ Medici, Duca d’ Urbino, the originals of
Michelangelo’s world-famous statues on the Medici tombs, that are of
course treated in a wholly ideal fashion. It will be observed that among
the foreground figures the heads of the second from the left and the
second from the right are rendered with much more force and character
than the rest. They are of Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici afterwards Clement
VII, and Cardinal de’ Rossi, and Vasari has saved himself trouble by
boldly annexing them, and with them the bust of the Pope, from Raphael’s
Portrait of Leo X, of which, as he tells us elsewhere, he had at one
time made a copy.

It has been well said of him by the continuators of his autobiography
that ‘to our Giorgio nature was very bountiful in her gifts; study and
good will had largely improved his natural disposition, but the taste of
the times, and the artistic education he received, corrupted the gifts
of nature, and the fruit of his unwearied studies.’ Vasari was not an
inspired artist, and he had neither the informing mind of a master nor
the judgement of a discriminating critic, but he was, as we have already
pointed out, above all things a thoroughly practical craftsman in
intimate touch with all the manifold artistic life of the Italy of his
time. He possessed moreover a most genial personality with which it is a
pleasure to come into contact, and his good temper (which only fails him
when he talks about Gothic art), though it may at times slightly provoke
us, accounts for not a little of the deserved popularity of his
writings.[2]

Vasari has no doubt at all about the arts being in the most healthy
condition in the best of all possible artistic worlds, but it is easy
for us to see that this art of the High Renaissance was not of the very
best; that the spirit had died out of it almost as soon as the form had
attained to outward perfection. We cannot share the facile optimism of
Vasari who will admire any work, or any at least in his own school and
style, in which there is initiative and force and technical mastery, and
in whose eyes to paint feigned architecture on a stucco façade, provided
it be deftly done, is as much a ‘cosa bellissima’ as to carve the
Marsuppini sarcophagus in S. Croce. We cannot however withhold our
admiration when we consider the copious artistic output of the age, the
manifold forms of aesthetic expression, the easy surrender of the most
intractable materials to the artist’s will. As we read Vasari’s
descriptions and recipes the air all about us seems full of the noise of
the mason’s hammer, the splash of plaster on the wall, the tinkle of the
carver’s chisel against the marble, the grating of the chaser’s rasp
upon the bronze. We feel ourselves spectators of an organized activity
on a vast scale, where processes are so well understood that they go on
almost of themselves. In the present day, in so much that is written
about art, the personal or biographical interest is uppermost, and the
lives of Italian artists, with their troubles and triumphs, absorb so
much attention that one wonders whether any is left for Italian art.
Hence one of the chief values of Vasari’s Technical Introduction is its
insistence on artistic practice in general, as distinct from the doings
of individual artists, and in this it may serve as a useful supplement
or corrective to the biographical writing now in vogue. In Vasari on
Technique there are no attractive personal legends, like that of
Giotto’s shepherding or Donatello’s adventure with the eggs, but we
learn in exchange to follow step by step the building and plastering and
painting of Giotto’s chapel at Padua, and can watch Donatello’s helpers
as they anxiously adjust the mould and core for casting the statue of
Gattamelata.

[Illustration:

PLATE I

LEO X WITH HIS CARDINALS

Mural Painting by Vasari, in the Palazzo Vecchio, Florence
]

It may assist the reader if there be here subjoined a succinct resumé of
the subjects treated by Vasari in the three ‘Introductions.’

The first of these, on Architecture, opens with a long chapter on stones
used in building and decoration, which is important as the fullest
notice of the subject that has come down to us from the Renaissance
period. Into his somewhat loose disquisitions on porphyry, marbles,
travertine, and other materials, Vasari introduces so many incidental
notices of monuments and personages of interest, that a somewhat
extended commentary has in this part been necessary. Next follows the
inevitable chapter on the five Orders, at the close of which comes the
notable passage in which Vasari adopts for late mediaeval architecture
the term ‘Gothic’ that has ever since adhered to it. With Vasari the
word ‘Gothic’ means ‘barbarian,’ and he holds that the style was
invented by the Goths, after they had conquered the Romans and destroyed
all the good antique structures. His description of what he terms the
‘abominations’ of slender shafts and niches and corbels and finials and
doors that touch the roof is quite spirited, and might be learned by
heart as a lesson in humility by some of our mediaeval enthusiasts. On
the question whether Vasari was the first to use the term ‘Gothic’ in
this sense a word will be said in the Note on the passage in Vasari’s
text.

Next come chapters on the architectural use of enriched plaster; on the
rustic fountains and grottoes, the taste for which was coming in in
Vasari’s time, and which at a later period generated the so-called
‘rocaille’ or ‘rococo’ style in ornamentation; and on mosaic pavements.
This ‘Introduction’ ends with a chapter on an interesting subject to
which it does not quite do justice, the subject of ideal architecture,
on which in that and the succeeding age a good deal was written.

Though Sculpture was not Vasari’s _métier_ his account of the processes
of that art is full and practical, though we miss the personal note that
runs through the descriptions of the same procedure in the _Trattato_ of
Cellini. After an introductory chapter we have one on the technique of
sculpture in marble, with an account first of the small, and then of the
full-sized, model in clay or wax, the mechanical transfer of the general
form of this to the marble block, and the completion of the statue by
the use of tools and processes which he describes. Chapter three
introduces the subject of reliefs, and there is here of course a good
deal about the picturesque reliefs in which perspective effects are
sought, that Ghiberti and Donatello had brought into vogue. The account
of bronze casting in chapter four is one of the most interesting in the
whole treatise, and the descriptions are in the main clear and
consistent. Illustrations have been introduced here from the article on
the subject in the French _Encyclopédie_ of the eighteenth century,
where is an account of the processes used in 1699 for casting in one
piece Girardon’s colossal equestrian statue of Louis XIV for the Place
Vendôme in Paris. A chapter on die-sinking for medals is followed by one
on modelled plaster work, for this material is dealt with in all the
three sections of the Introduction; while sculpture in wood forms the
subject of the concluding chapter, in which there is a curious notice of
an otherwise unknown French artist, who executed at Florence a statue of
S. Rocco which may still be seen in the church of the Annunziata. In
various places of this ‘Introduction’ to Sculpture questions of general
aesthetic interest are brought forward, and some of these are discussed
in the commentary at its close.

Of the three ‘Introductions’ that on Painting is the longest and deals
with the greatest variety of topics. After a preliminary chapter in
which Vasari shows that he regards the art with the eyes of a Florentine
frescoist, he gives a practical account of different methods of
executing drawings and cartoons, and of transferring the lines of the
cartoon to the fresh plaster of the wall, on which the fresco painter is
to work. A chapter on colouring in mural pictures leads on to the
account of the fresco process. As Vasari was in this an expert, his
description and appreciation of the process form one of the most
valuable parts of the treatise. He is enthusiastic in his praise of the
method, which he calls the most masterly and most beautiful of all, on
account of its directness and rapidity. Tempera painting on panel or on
dry plaster is next discussed, and then follows a notice of oil painting
on panel or canvas. The statement here made by Vasari that oil painting
was invented by van Eyck is the earliest enunciation of a dogma that has
given rise in recent times to a large amount of controversial writing.
He goes on next to treat of the right method of mural painting in the
oil medium, and in this last connection Vasari gives us the recipe he
had finally adopted after years of experiment, and employed for
preparing walls for the application of oil paint in the Palazzo Vecchio
at Florence. The use of oil paint on a ground of slate or other kinds of
stone furnishes matter for another chapter.

With chapter eleven begins what we may regard as a second division of
this ‘Introduction,’ in which various processes of the decorative arts
are grouped together under the head of Painting, on the ground of the
pictorial effects produced by their means. Decorative painting, in the
usual sense, is first described as executed in monochrome for permanence
on the façades of buildings, or for temporary purposes on triumphal
arches and similar structures; and then follows a chapter on what is
known as ‘Sgraffito’ work, or decoration in plaster of two colours,
especially valuable as the first statement of the method and aim of this
process, which had been evolved from _pâte-sur-pâte_ pottery not long
before Vasari’s time. ‘Grotesques’ in modelled and stamped plaster are
next described, and the uses of colour in various ways in connection
with them are noticed, though with tantalizing brevity. Recipes for
gilding follow, and then with a treatment of glass mosaic we pass on to
a discussion of eight different kinds of decorative work, which interest
Vasari chiefly because of their pictorial possibilities. Of glass
mosaic, while he gives very good advice about the sort of design
suitable for it, he says that it must be so executed as to look like
painting and not like inlaid work. Some, he says, are so clever that
they make it resemble fresco. Floor mosaics in coloured marbles are to
appear exactly like a flat picture; works in tarsia, or wood inlays, are
dismissed because they cannot do more than counterfeit painting without
equalling it; stained glass windows, on the other hand, are lauded
because they can be carried to the same perfection as fine pictures on
panel. Enamel is noticed because it is of the nature of picture-work,
and even damascening on metal ‘partakes of the nature both of sculpture
and of painting.’ Lastly wood-engraving is only described under the form
of the Chiaroscuri, or shaded prints, introduced early in the sixteenth
century, though W. J. Linton in his work _The Masters of Wood Engraving_
regards these as merely aping drawings, and hardly coming under the
engraver’s art at all!

To return for a moment in concluding to a comparison already drawn, the
contrast is very significant between Vasari’s attitude towards these
decorative processes and that of the mediaeval writer Theophilus.
Throughout his treatise Theophilus hardly says anything about design, or
what is to be represented in the various materials. It is the materials
themselves that are his concern, and the end before his eyes is the
effect of beauty and sumptuousness in colour and texture that their
skilful manipulation will secure. To Vasari these materials are chiefly
of importance as producing something of the effect of painting, and
though he deals with them and their manipulation from the technical
point of view, the vision of the completed result as a picture hovers
always before his eyes. In this Vasari was only following in his
theoretical treatment the actual facts of artistic development in his
times. Since the beginning of the Renaissance period all the forms of
industrial art which he describes had been gradually losing the purely
decorative character which belonged to them in the mediaeval epoch, and
were being hurried along at the chariot wheels of the triumphant art of
painting. This is one of the two dangers to which these forms of art are
always subject. The naturalism in design, which is encouraged by the
popularity of the painter’s art on its representative side, is as much
opposed to their true genius as is the modern system of mechanical
production, which deprives them of the charm they owe to the touch of
the craftsman’s personality. History brought it about that in the
century after Vasari these arts were in a measure rescued from the too
great predominance of the pictorial element, though they were subjected
at the same time to the other unfavourable influence just hinted at.
Italy, from which the artistic Renaissance had spread to other lands,
ceased in the seventeenth century to be the main centre of production or
of inspiration for the decorative arts, which rather found their home in
Paris, where they were organized and encouraged as part of the state
system. The _Manufacture des Meubles de la Couronne_, a creation of
Louis XIV’s minister Colbert, which had its headquarters at the Hotel
des Gobelins and the Savonnerie, was a manufactory of decorative work of
almost every kind and in the most varied materials. That this work,
judged on an aesthetic standard, was cold and formal, and wanting in the
breath of life which plays about all the productions of the mediaeval
workshop, was an inevitable consequence of its systematized official
character and of its environment. The lover of art will take more real
pleasure in the output of the old-fashioned and more personal English
craftsmanship of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, than in the
artistic glories of the French state factories under the _Ancien
Régime_. This native British craftsmanship was however struck into
inanition a century ago by the apparition of machinery; and the result
of half-a-century of the new industrial era was the Great Exhibition of
1851, wherein was displayed what was probably the greatest collection of
artistic failures that the world has ever beheld. In consequence
agencies were then set on foot, and engineered by the Science and Art
Department, to improve the artistic quality of industrial products, but
unfortunately these were based on principles not wholly sound. The
shibboleths ‘Historic Ornament’ and ‘Applied Ornament’ covered the
desponding view that the decorative arts were dead, and that enrichment
must henceforth not be a living thing, the concomitant and even the
product of the work itself, but a dead or ‘historic’ thing, that might
be procured from books or museums and then ‘applied’ as an afterthought
to whatever was to be made a ‘work of art.’ The results of this system
were not encouraging, and led to the revival of mediaeval ideas, which,
embodied in the magnetic personality of William Morris, have done much
to effect a real, though as yet not far-reaching artistic revival.

The first principle here is to discourage undue naturalism in ornamental
design by withdrawing the decorative arts from the influence of
painting, and attaching them rather to the arts of construction, under
the beneficent control of which they did so well in the middle ages. The
next principle, which is equally important, is to foster the personal
element in decorative work, but at the same time to prevent
individuality from becoming self-assertive and running into vagaries, by
insisting on the vital connection of ornament with material and
technique. For the worker to ornament a thing properly he must either
have made it or at any rate be in intimate touch with the processes of
fabrication, out of which the decorative treatment should grow. The fact
that the more advanced Schools of Art in our own country, such as that
at Birmingham, regard as essential parts of their equipment the range of
workshops where technical processes are explained and studied, is an
encouraging sign, and this return from the drawing-board and the book to
the bench and the tool gives an additional practical value to the older
treatises on the technique of the arts, of which Vasari’s Introduction
is one.

OF ARCHITECTURE

CHAPTER I.

§ 1. _The author’s object in the Discussion of Architecture._

How great is the utility of Architecture it does not fall to me to tell,
since the subject has been treated at length and most carefully by many
writers. For this reason, leaving on one side the limes, sands, wood,
iron armatures, mode of preparing the foundations, as well as everything
else that is used in a building; disregarding also the questions of
water and localities and sites, already enlarged on by Vitruvius[3] and
by our own Leon Battista Alberti,[4] I shall only discuss, for the use
of our artificers and for whoever likes to know, the essential qualities
of buildings, and in what proportions they should be put together and of
what parts composed in order to obtain that graceful beauty that is
desired. In short, I shall collect all that seems to me necessary for
the purpose in view.

§ 2. _Of the working of hard stones, and first of Porphyry._

In order that the great difficulty of working very hard and compact
stones may be clearly understood, we shall treat distinctly but briefly
of every variety which our workmen handle, and first of porphyry.[5]
This is a red stone, with minute white specks, brought into Italy from
Egypt, where it is generally believed that the stone when quarried is
softer than it is after it has been exposed to rain, frost and sunshine;
because all these influences make it harder and more difficult to
work.[6] Of this stone numberless works are to be seen, some of them
shaped with the chisel, some sawn into shape, and some again gradually
worked up by means of wheels and emery. There are many different
examples in divers places; for instance, square, round, and other pieces
smoothed for pavements, statues for edifices, a great number of columns
large and small, and fountains with various masks, all carved with the
greatest care. There are also sarcophagi still extant, with figures in
low and half relief, laboriously wrought, as at the temple of
Bacchus,[7] outside Rome, by Sant’ Agnese, where is said to be the
sarcophagus of Santa Costanza, daughter of the Emperor Constantine, on
which are carved many figures of children with grapes and vineleaves,
that testify how great was his labour who worked them in a stone so
hard. There is another example in an urn, near to the door known as the
Porta Santa in San Giovanni in Laterano, which is decorated with scenes
containing a great number of figures.[8] There is also in the piazza
della Ritonda a very beautiful urn made for sepulchral purposes[9] that
is worked with great care and diligence. It is of extremely graceful and
beautiful form, and is very different from the others. In the house of
Egizio and of Fabio Sasso[10] there used to be a seated figure,
measuring three and a half braccia, preserved to our days with the
remains of the other statues in the Casa Farnese.[11] In the courtyard
also of the Casa la Valle,[12] over a window, is a she-wolf most
excellently sculptured,[13] and, in the garden of the same house, the
two prisoners bound, each four braccia in height,[14] executed in this
same porphyry by the ancients with extraordinary skill. These works are
lavishly praised to-day by all skilled persons, knowing, as they do, the
difficulty the workers had in executing them owing to the hardness of
the stone.

In our day stone of this sort is never wrought to perfection,[15]
because our artificers have lost the art of tempering the chisels and
other instruments for working them. It is true that they can still, with
the help of emery, saw drums of columns into slices, and cut other
pieces to be arranged in patterns for floors, and make various other
ornaments for buildings. The porphyry is reduced little by little by
means of a copper saw, without teeth, drawn backwards and forwards
between two men, which, with the aid of emery reduced to powder, and
kept constantly wet with water, finally cuts its way through the
stone.[16] Although at different times many ingenious attempts have been
made to find out the method of working porphyry used by the
ancients,[17] all have been in vain, and Leon Battista Alberti, the
first to make experiments therein not however in things of great moment,
did not find, among the many tempering-baths that he put to the test,
any that answered better than goats’ blood; because, though in the
working it removed but little of that hardest of stones and was always
striking sparks of fire, it served him nevertheless so far as to enable
him to have carved, in the threshold of the principal door of Santa
Maria Novella in Florence, the eighteen antique letters, very large and
well proportioned, which are seen on the front of the step, in a piece
of porphyry. These letters form the words BERNARDO ORICELLARIO.[18] And
because the edge of the chisel did not suit for squaring the corners, or
giving the necessary polish and finish, he had a little revolving drill
made, with a handle like a spit, which was easily worked by placing the
said handle against the chest, and putting the hands into the crank in
order to turn it.[19] At the working end, instead of a chisel or bit, he
fixed copper discs, larger or smaller according to need, and these, well
sprinkled with emery, gradually reduced and smoothed the stone,
producing a fine surface and finishing the corners, the drill all the
while being dexterously twirled by the hand. But all this effort cost so
much time, that Leon Battista lost heart, and did not put his hand to
anything else, either in the way of statues, or vases, or other delicate
work. Others, afterwards, who set themselves to smoothing stones and
restoring columns by the same special process, have done it in this way.
They make for the purpose large and heavy hammers, with the points of
steel, keenly tempered with goats’ blood, and worked in the manner of
diamond points; with these they carefully tap on the porphyry, and
‘scabbling’ it, or working it down, little by little the best way they
can, finally reduce it, with much time and trouble, to the round or the
flat, as the workman chooses,—not however to the form of statues,
because of this we have lost the art—and they polish it with emery and
leather, scouring it till there comes a lustre very clear and well
finished.

[Illustration:

FIG. 1.—Inscribed Porphyry Tablet at Santa Maria Novella, Florence.
]

Now although every day refinements are being made on human inventions,
and new things enquired into, yet even the moderns, who from time to
time have tried fresh methods of carving porphyry, various
tempering-baths, and very carefully refined steels, have, as was said
above, up till recent years laboured in vain. Thus in the year 1553 Pope
Julius III, having been presented by Signor Ascanio Colonna[20] with a
very handsome antique porphyry basin, measuring seven braccia across,
ordered it to be restored, for some pieces were missing, that it might
adorn his vineyard: the work was undertaken, and many things tried by
the advice of Michelagnolo Buonarroti and of other excellent masters,
but after a great length of time the enterprise was despaired of,
chiefly because it was found impossible to preserve some of the arrises,
a matter essential to the undertaking: Michelagnolo, moreover, even
though accustomed to the hardness of stones, gave up the attempt, as did
all the others, and nothing more was done.

[Illustration:

PLATE II

PRINCIPAL DOORWAY AT S. MARIA NOVELLA, FLORENCE

Showing the position of the inscribed porphyry tablet on the riser or
the step
]

At last, since no other thing in our days was lacking to the perfection
of our arts, except the method of satisfactorily working porphyry, that
not even this should still be to seek, it was rediscovered in the
following manner. In the year 1555, Duke Cosimo, wishing to erect a
fountain of remarkable beauty in the court of his principal palace in
Florence, had excellent water led there from the Pitti Palace and
Garden, and ordered a basin with its pedestal to be made for the said
fountain from some large pieces of porphyry found among broken
fragments. To make the working of it more easy to the master, he caused
an extract to be distilled from an herb, the name of which is unknown to
me, and this extract had such virtue, that red-hot tools when plunged
into it acquired the hardest possible temper. With the aid of this
process then, Francesco del Tadda, the carver of Fiesole,[21] executed
after my design the basin of the said fountain, which is two and a half
braccia in diameter,[22] together with its pedestal, just as it may be
seen to-day in the above-named palace.[23] Tadda, judging that the
secret imparted to him by the duke was very precious, set himself to put
it to the test by carving something, and he has succeeded so well that
in a short time he has made, in three ovals, life-size portraits in half
relief of Duke Cosimo and of the duchess Leonora, and a head of Christ,
executed so perfectly that the hair and beard, most difficult to
reproduce in carving, are finished in a manner equal to that of the
ancients. The Duke was talking one day of these works with
Michelagnolo[24] when his Excellency was in Rome, and Buonarroti would
not believe in them; therefore, by the Duke’s order, I sent the head of
Christ to Rome where it was seen by Michelagnolo with great wonder, who
praised it highly and rejoiced greatly to see the sculpture of our time
enriched by this rare gift, which until our day had been searched for in
vain. Tadda has recently finished the head of the elder Cosimo de’
Medici[25] in an oval, like those mentioned above, and he has executed
and continues to execute many other similar works.

All that remains to be said of porphyry is that, because the quarries
are now lost to knowledge,[26] it is necessary to make use of what is
left of it in the form of ancient fragments, drums of columns and other
pieces; and that in consequence he who works in porphyry must ascertain
whether or not it has been subjected to the action of fire, because if
it have, although it does not completely lose its colour, nor crumble
away, it lacks much of its natural vividness and never takes so good a
polish as when it has not been so subjected; and, what is worse, it
easily fractures in the working. It is also worth knowing, as regards
the nature of porphyry, that, if put into the furnace, it does not burn
away (non si cuoce),[27] nor allow other stones round it to be
thoroughly burnt; indeed, as to itself, it grows raw (incrudelisce) as
is shown in the two columns the men of Pisa gave to the Florentines in
the year 1117 after the acquisition of Majorca. These columns now stand
at the principal door of the church of San Giovanni; they are colourless
and not very well polished in consequence of having passed through fire,
as Giovanni Villani relates in his history.[28]

[Illustration:

PLATE III

PORTRAIT IN PORPHYRY OF COSIMO ‘PATER PATRIAE’
BY FRANCESCO DEL TADDA
]

§ 3. _Of Serpentine._

After porphyry we come to serpentine,[29] which is a green stone, rather
dark, with little crosses long and yellowish all through its texture.
The artificers busy themselves with making columns and slabs for
pavements in edifices from it, in the same way as from porphyry. It is
never seen carved into figures, although it is very often used for the
bases of columns, the pedestals of tables, and other works of a ruder
kind. Though this sort of stone is liable to fracture, and is harder
than porphyry, it is sweeter to work and involves less labour.
Serpentine is quarried in Egypt and Greece and the sound pieces are not
very large; consequently no work of greater dimensions than three
braccia in any direction is ever seen of serpentine, and such works as
exist are slabs and pieces of pavement. A few columns are found also but
not very massive nor thick, as well as some masks and sculptured
brackets, but figures never. This stone is worked in the same manner as
porphyry.

§ 4. _Of Cipollaccio._

Softer than serpentine is cipollaccio,[30] a stone quarried in various
places; it is of a crude yellowish green colour and has within it some
square black marks, large and small, and also biggish white marks. Of
this material one may see in various places columns both massive and
slender, as well as doors and other ornaments, but not figures. There is
a fountain of this stone in Rome in the Belvedere, that is to say a
niche in a corner of the garden where are the statues of the Nile and of
the Tiber;[31] Pope Clement VII had this niche made, after a design by
Michelagnolo,[32] to adorn the statue of a river god that it might look
very beautiful in this setting made in imitation of natural rocks, as
indeed it actually does. Cipollaccio is also sawn into panels, round and
oval, and into similar pieces which, when arranged with other stones in
pavements and other flat surfaces, make lovely compositions. It takes a
polish like porphyry and serpentine and is sawn in the same manner.
Numberless pieces of it are found in Rome, buried under the ruins; these
come to light daily and thus of ancient things modern works are made,
such as doors and other ornamental details, which, wherever placed, are
decorative and very beautiful.

§ 5. _Of Breccia (‘Mischio,’ Conglomerate)._

Here is now another stone, called ‘mischio’ (breccia),[33] from the
mixture of various stones coagulated together and made one by time and
by the mordant action of water. It is found in abundance in several
places, as in the mountains of Verona, in those of Carrara, and of Prato
in Tuscany, and in the hills of the Impruneta in the neighbourhood of
Florence.[34] But the best and choicest breccias have been found, not
long ago, at San Giusto at Monte Rantoli, five miles distant from
Florence.[35] In this material Duke Cosimo has commissioned me to
decorate all the new rooms of the palace with doors and chimney pieces,
and the effect is most beautiful. Also for the garden of the Pitti, very
fine columns seven braccia high have been quarried from the same place,
and I am astonished that in this stone such large pieces should be found
free from flaws.[36] Being of the nature of limestone, it takes a
beautiful polish and in colour inclines to a reddish purple streaked
with white and yellowish veins. But the finest examples of all are in
Greece and Egypt,[37] where the stone is much harder than ours in Italy,
and it is found in as many different colours as mother nature has
delighted and still delights to produce in all perfection. In the
breccias formed in this way one sees at Rome at the present day both
ancient and modern works, such as columns, vases, fountains, door
ornaments, and various inlays on buildings, as well as many pieces in
the pavements. There are various sorts, of many colours; some draw to
yellow and red, others to white and black, others again to grey and
white speckled with red and veined with numerous colours; then there are
certain reds, greens, blacks and whites which are oriental: and of this
sort of stone the Duke has an antique urn, four and a half braccia
across, in his garden at the Pitti, a thing most precious, being as I
said of oriental breccia very beautiful and extremely hard to work.[38]
Such stones are all very hard, and exquisite in colour and quality, as
is shown by the two columns, twelve braccia high at the entrance of St.
Peter’s in Rome, which support the first arcades of the aisles, one on
each side.[39] Of this stone, the kind which is found in the hills of
Verona, is very much softer than the oriental; and in that place is
quarried a sort which is reddish, and inclines towards a vetch
colour.[40] All these kinds are worked easily in our days with the
tempering-baths and the tools used for our own local stones. Windows,
columns, fountains, pavements, door posts and mouldings are made of
them, as is seen in Lombardy and indeed throughout Italy.

§ 6. _Of Granite._

There is another sort of extremely hard stone, much coarser and speckled
with black and white and sometimes with red, which, on account of its
grain and consistency, is commonly called granite.[41] In Egypt it
exists in solid masses of immense size that can be quarried in pieces
incredibly long, such as are seen now-a-days in Rome in obelisks,
needles, pyramids, columns, and in those enormous vessels for baths
which we have at San Pietro in Vincola, at San Salvadore del Lauro and
at San Marco.[42] It is also seen in columns without number, which for
hardness and compactness have had nothing to fear from fire or sword, so
that time itself, that drives everything to ruin, not only has not
destroyed them but has not even altered their colour. It was for this
reason that the Egyptians made use of granite in the service of their
dead, writing on these obelisks in their strange characters the lives of
the great, to preserve the memory of their prowess and nobility.

From Egypt there used also to come another variety of grey granite,
where the black and white specks draw rather towards green. It is
certainly very hard, not so hard however, but that our stonecutters, in
the building of St. Peter’s, have made use of the fragments they have
found, in such a manner that by means of the temper of the tools at
present adopted, they have reduced the columns and other pieces to the
desired slenderness and have given them a polish equal to that of
porphyry.

Many parts of Italy are enriched with this grey granite, but the largest
blocks found are in the island of Elba, where the Romans kept men
continually employed in quarrying countless pieces of this rock.[43]
Some of the columns of the portico of the Ritonda are made of it, and
they are very beautiful and of extraordinary size.[44] It is noticed
that the stone when in the quarry is far softer and more easy to work
than after it has lain exposed.[45] It is true that for the most part it
must be worked with picks that have a point, like those used for
porphyry, and at the other end a sharp edge like a toothed chisel.[46]
From a piece of this granite which was detached from the mass, Duke
Cosimo has hollowed out a round basin twelve braccia broad in every
direction and a table of the same length for the palace and garden of
the Pitti.[47]

§ 7. _Of Paragon (Touchstone)._[48]

A kind of black stone, called paragon, is likewise quarried in Egypt and
also in some parts of Greece. It is so named because it forms a test for
trying gold; the workman rubs the gold on this stone and discerns its
colour, and on this account, used as it is for comparing or testing, it
comes to be named paragon, or indexstone (a). Of this there is another
variety, with a different grain and colour, for it has, almost but not
quite, the tint of the mulberry, and does not lend itself readily to the
tool. It was used by the ancients for some of those sphinxes and other
animals seen in various places in Rome, and for a figure of greater
size, a hermaphrodite in Parione,[49] alongside of another most
beautiful statue of porphyry.[50] This stone is hard to carve, but is
extraordinarily beautiful and takes a wonderful polish (b). The same
sort is also to be found in Tuscany, in the hills of Prato, ten miles
distant from Florence (c), and in the mountains of Carrara. On modern
tombs many sarcophagi and repositories for the dead are to be seen of
it; for example, in the principal chapel in the Carmine at Florence,
where is the tomb of Piero Soderini (although he is not within it) made
of this stone, and a canopy too of this same Prato touchstone, so well
finished and so lustrous that it looks like a piece of satin rather than
a cut and polished stone (d). Thus again, in the facing which covers the
outside of the church of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, all over the
building, there is a different kind of black marble (e) and red marble
(f), but all worked in the same manner.

§ 8. _Of Transparent Marbles for filling window openings._

Some sorts of marble are found in Greece and in all parts of the East,
which are white and yellowish, and very transparent. These were used by
the ancients for baths and hot-air chambers and for all those places
which need protection against wind, and in our own days there are still
to be seen in the tribune of San Miniato a Monte, the abode of the monks
of Monte Oliveto, above the gates of Florence, some windows of this
marble, which admit light but not air.[51] By means of this invention
people gave light to their dwellings and kept out the cold.

§ 9. _Of Statuary Marbles._

From the same quarries[52] were taken other marbles free from veins, but
of the same colour, out of which were carved the noblest statues. These
marbles were of a very fine grain and consistency, and they were
continually being made use of by all who carved capitals and other
architectural ornaments. The blocks available for sculpture were of
great size as appears in the Colossi of Montecavallo at Rome,[53] in the
Nile[54] of the Belvedere and in all the most famous and noble statues.
Apart from the question of the marble, one can recognize these to be
Greek from the fashion of the head, the arrangement of the hair, and
from the nose, which from its juncture with the eyebrows down to the
nostril is somewhat square.[55] This marble is worked with ordinary
tools and with drills, and is polished with pumice stone, with chalk
from Tripoli, and with leather and wisps of straw.

In the mountains of Carrara in the Carfagnana,[56] near to the heights
of Luni, there are many varieties of marble, some black,[57] some
verging towards grey, some mingled with red and others again with grey
veins.[58] These form an outer crust over the white marbles, and they
take those colours, because they are not refined, but rather are smitten
by time, water and the soil. Again, there are other sorts of marble,
called ‘cipollini,’[59] ‘saligni,’ ‘campanini’ and ‘mischiati.’[60] The
most abundant kind is pure white and milky in tone; it is easy to work
and quite perfect for carving into figures. Enormous blocks lie there
ready to be quarried, and in our own days, pieces measuring nine braccia
have been hewn out for colossal statues. Two of these colossi have
recently been sculptured, each from a single block. The one is
Michelagnolo’s ‘David,’ which is at the entrance of the Ducal Palace in
Florence;[61] the other is the ‘Hercules and Cacus’ from the hand of
Bandinello standing at the other side of the same entrance. Another
block of nine braccia in length was taken out of the quarry a few years
ago, in order that the same Baccio Bandinello should carve a figure of
Neptune for the fountain which the Duke is having erected on the piazza.
But, Bandinello being dead, it has since been given to Ammannato, an
excellent sculptor, for him likewise to carve a Neptune out of it.[62]
But of all these marbles, that of the quarry named Polvaccio,[63] in the
place of that name, has the fewest blemishes and veins and is free from
those knots and nuts which very often occur in an extended surface of
marble—occasioning no little difficulty to the worker, and spoiling the
statues even when they are finished. From the quarries of Seravezza,
near to Pietrasanta, there have been taken out a set of columns, all of
the same height, destined for the façade of San Lorenzo at Florence,
which is now sketched out in front of the door of that church;[64] one
of these columns is to be seen there, the rest remain, some in the
quarry, some at the seashore.

[Illustration:

FIG. 2.—Tools mentioned by Vasari, etc.

A, B, Models of Tools used in Egypt at the present day for working
hard stones.

C, The pick referred to by Vasari, p. 41.

D, A burin or graver.

E-J, Tools in actual use in a stone-cutter’s yard at Settignano:

E, Subbia, a point.

F, Calcagnuolo, a toothed chisel.

G, Gradina, a broader toothed chisel.

H, Scarpello, a chisel.

J, Trapano, a drill.
]

But returning to the quarries of Pietrasanta,[65] I say that they were
the quarries in which all the ancients worked, and no other marbles but
these were used for their statues by those masters, who were so
excellent. While the masses were being hewn out, they were always at
work, blocking out figures in the rough on the stones while they were
still in the quarry. The remains of many of these can be seen even yet
in that place.[66] This same marble, then, the moderns of to-day use for
their statues, not only in Italy, but in France, England, Spain and
Portugal, as can be seen to-day in the tomb executed in Naples by
Giovanni da Nola, the excellent sculptor, for Don Pietro di Toledo,
viceroy of that kingdom, to whom all the marbles were presented, and
sent to Naples by Duke Cosimo de’ Medici.[67] This kind of marble has in
itself larger available pieces and is more yielding and softer to work
and receives a finer polish than any other marble. It is true that
occasionally the workman meets with flaws called by the sculptors
‘smerigli’ (emery veins) which usually cause the tools to break. The
blocks are first roughed into shape, by a tool called ‘subbia’
(point)[68] which is pointed like a stake in facets, and is heavier or
lighter as the case may be. At the next stage are used chisels, named
‘calcagnuoli’ (toothed chisels), which have a notch in the middle of the
edge of the blade; after that finer and finer tools with more teeth are
used to score the marble, after which it is smoothed with another chisel
called ‘gradina,’ (broader toothed chisel) used to reduce and refine the
figures. The tooth marks left in the marble are removed with iron rasps
straight and curved, and thus at last, by polishing gradually with
pumice stone the surface aimed at is attained. In order not to fracture
the marble, all the drill-holes are made with drills of different sizes
weighing from twelve pounds each even to twenty, according to the size
of the hole needed,[69] and they serve to finish every sort of work and
to bring it to perfection.

Of certain white marbles, streaked with grey,[70] sculptors and
architects make ornaments for doors and columns for houses and the same
are used also for pavements and for facings of large buildings, and for
all sorts of things. All the marbles called ‘mischiati’[71] are used for
the same purposes.

§ 10. _Of Cipollino Marble._[72]

The cipollini marbles are another kind, different in grain and colour,
and found in other places besides Carrara. Most of them are greenish,
and full of veins; they are useful for various things, but not for
figures. Those which the sculptors call ‘saligni,’[73] because they are
partly transparent, and have that lustrous appearance seen in salt, have
something of the nature of stalagmite, and are troublesome enough to
make figures of; because the grain of the stone is rough and coarse, or
because in damp weather water drops from it continually or else it
sweats. The ‘campanini’ marbles are so named because they sound like a
bell under the hammer and give out a sharper note than other
marbles.[74] These are hard and crack more easily than the kinds above
mentioned. They are quarried at Pietrasanta.[75] Again at Seravezza[76]
in many places and at Campiglia[77] there are marbles excavated, which
are for the most part excellent for ashlar work and even fairly good
sometimes for statues.

§ 11. _Of White Pisan Marble._

A kind of white marble, akin to limestone, is found likewise at Monte
San Giuliano near Pisa.[78] It has been used for covering the outside
walls of the Duomo and the Camposanto of Pisa, as well as for many other
ornaments to be seen in that city. Formerly the said marbles were
brought to Pisa from the hill at San Giuliano with trouble and expense,
but now it is different, because Duke Cosimo, in order to make the
district more healthy and also to facilitate the carriage of the marbles
and other stones taken from those mountains, has turned into a straight
canal the river Osoli and many other streams, which used to rise in
those plains and do damage to the country. By means of this canal, the
marbles, either worked or rough, can be easily conveyed, at a trifling
cost, and with the greatest advantage to the city which is now almost
restored to its former magnificence, thanks to the said Duke, who has no
object more dear to him than that of improving and restoring the city,
which was falling into ruins, before His Excellency became its lord.[79]

§ 12. _Of Travertine._

There is another sort of stone called travertine, which is much used for
building and also for carvings of various sorts. It is always being
quarried in many places throughout Italy, as in the neighbourhood of
Lucca, at Pisa, and round about Siena; but the largest blocks and the
best, that is, those which are most easily worked, are taken from above
the river Teverone at Tivoli.[80] The stone is all a kind of coagulation
of earth and of water, which by its hardness and coldness congeals and
petrifies not only earth, but stumps and branches and leaves of trees.
On account of the water that remains within the stones—which never can
be dry so long as they lie under water—they are full of pores which give
them a spongy and perforated appearance, both within and without.

Of travertine the ancients constructed their most wonderful buildings,
for example, the Colosseum, and the Treasury by the church of Ss. Cosimo
e Damiano[81] and many other edifices. They used it without stint for
the foundations of their public buildings, and in working these
basements, they were not too fastidious in finishing them carefully, but
left them rough, as in rustic work; and this they did perhaps because so
treated they possess a certain grandeur and nobility of their own.[82]
But in our days there has been found one who has worked travertine most
skilfully, as was formerly seen in that round temple, begun but never
finished, save only the basement, on the piazza of San Luigi de’
Francesi in Rome.[83] It was undertaken by a Frenchman named Maestro
Gian, who studied the art of carving in Rome and became so proficient,
that his work in the beginning of this temple could stand comparison
with the best things, either ancient or modern, ever seen carved in
travertine. He carved astrological globes, salamanders in the fire,
royal emblems, devices of open books showing the leaves, and carefully
finished trophies and masks. These, in their own place, bear witness to
the excellence and quality of the stone which, although it is coarse,
can be worked as freely as marble. It possesses a charm of its own,
owing to the spongy appearance produced by the little cavities which
cover the surface and look so well. This unfinished temple being left
imperfect, was razed by the French, and the said stones and other pieces
that formed part of its construction were placed in the façade of the
church of San Luigi[84] and in some of its chapels, where they are well
arranged, and produce a beautiful effect.

Travertine is excellent for walls, because after it is built up in
squared courses and worked into mouldings, it can be entirely covered
with stucco[85] and thereafter be impressed with any designs in relief
that are desired, just as the ancients did in the public entrances to
the Colosseum[86] and in many other places; and as Antonio da San Gallo
has done in the present day in the hall of the Pope’s palace, in front
of the chapel,[87] where he has faced the travertine with stucco bearing
many excellent devices. More than any other master however has
Michelagnolo Buonarroti ennobled this stone in the decoration of the
court of the Casa Farnese.[88] With marvellous judgement he has used it
for windows, masks, brackets, and many other such fancies; all these are
worked as marble is worked and no other similar ornament can be seen to
excel this in beauty. And if these things are rare, more wonderful than
all is the great cornice on the front façade of the same palace, than
which nothing more magnificent or more beautiful can be sought for.
Michelagnolo has also employed travertine for certain large chapels on
the outside of the building of St. Peter’s, and in the interior, for the
cornice that runs all round the tribune; so finished is this cornice
that not one of the joints can be perceived, everyone therefore can well
understand with what advantage to the work we employ this kind of stone.
But that which surpasses every other marvel is the construction in this
stone of the vault of one of the three tribunes in St. Peter’s; the
pieces composing it are joined in such a manner that not only is the
building well tied together with various sorts of bonds, but looked at
from the ground it appears made out of a single piece.[89]

§ 13. _Of Slates._

We now come to a different order of stones, blackish in colour and used
by the architects only for laying on roofs. These are thin flags
produced by nature and time near the surface of the earth for the
service of man. Some of these are made into receptacles, built up
together in such a manner that the pieces dovetail one into the other.
The vessels are filled with oil according to their holding capacity and
they preserve it most thoroughly. These slates are a product of the sea
coast of Genoa, in a place called Lavagna;[90] they are excavated in
pieces ten braccia long and are made use of by artists for their oil
paintings, because pictures painted on slate last much longer than on
any other material, as we shall discuss more appropriately in the
chapters on painting.

§ 14. _Of Peperino._[91]

We shall also refer in a future chapter to a stone named piperno or more
commonly peperigno, a blackish and spongy stone, resembling travertine,
which is excavated in the Roman Campagna. It is used for the posts of
windows and doors in various places, notably at Naples and in Rome; and
it also serves artists for painting on in oil, as we shall relate in the
proper place. This is a very thirsty stone and indeed more like cinder
than anything else.

§ 15. _Of the Stone from Istria._[92]

There is moreover quarried in Istria a stone of a livid white, which
very easily splits, and this is more frequently used than any other, not
by the city of Venice alone, but by all the province of Romagna, for all
works both of masonry and carving. It is worked with tools and
instruments longer than those usually employed, and chiefly with certain
little hammers that follow the cleavage of the stone, where it readily
parts. A great quantity of this kind of stone was used by Messer Jacopo
Sansovino, who built the Doric edifice of the Panattiera[93] in Venice,
and also that in the Tuscan style for the Zecca (mint) on the Piazza of
San Marco.[94] Thus they go on executing all their works for that city,
doors, windows, chapels, and any other decorations that they find
convenient to make, notwithstanding the fact that breccias and other
kinds of stone could easily be conveyed from Verona, by means of the
river Adige. Very few works made of these latter materials are to be
seen, because of the general use of the Istrian stone, into which
porphyry, serpentine and other sorts of breccias are often inlaid,
resulting in compositions which are very ornamental. This stone is of
the nature of the limestone called ‘alberese,’ not unlike that of our
own districts, and as has been said it splits easily.

§ 16. _Of Pietra Serena._

There only remains now the pietra serena and the grey stone called
‘macigno’[95] and the pietra forte which is much used in the mountainous
parts of Italy, especially in Tuscany, and most of all in Florence and
her territory. The stone that they call pietra serena[96] draws towards
blue or rather towards a greyish tint. There are quarries of it in many
places near Arezzo, at Cortona, at Volterra, and throughout the
Apennines. The finest is in the hills of Fiesole, and it is obtained
there in blocks of very great size, as we see in all the edifices
constructed in Florence by Filippo di Ser Brunellesco, who had all the
stones needed for the churches of San Lorenzo and of Santo Spirito
quarried there, and also an unlimited quantity which are in every
building throughout the city. It is a very beautiful stone to look at,
but it wastes away and exfoliates where it is subjected to damp, rain,
or frost. Under cover however it will last for ever. Much more durable
than this and of finer colour is a sort of bluish stone, in our day
called ‘pietra del fossato.’[97] When quarried, the first layer is
gravelly and coarse, the second is never free from knots and fissures,
the third is admirable being much finer in grain. Michelagnolo used
this, because of its yielding grain, in building the Library and
Sacristy of San Lorenzo for Pope Clement, and he has had the mouldings,
columns, and every part of the work executed with such great care that
even if it were of silver it would not look so well.[98] The stone takes
on a very fine polish, so much so that nothing better in this kind of
material could be wished for. On this account it was forbidden by law
that the stone be used in Florence for other than public buildings,
unless permission had been obtained from the governing authorities.[99]
The Duke Cosimo has had a great quantity of this stone put into use, as
for example, in the columns and ornaments of the loggia of the Mercato
Nuovo, and for the work begun by Bandinello in the great audience
chamber of the palace and also in the other hall which is opposite to
it; but the greatest amount, more than ever used elsewhere, has been
taken by his Excellency for the Strada de’ Magistrati,[100] now in
construction, after the design and under the direction of Giorgio Vasari
of Arezzo. This stone demands as much time for working it as marble. It
is so hard that water does not affect it and it withstands all other
attacks of time.

Besides this there is another sort called pietra serena, found all over
the hill, which is coarser, harder, and not so much coloured, and
contains certain knots in the stone. It resists the influence of water
and frost, and is useful for figures and carved ornaments. Of this is
carved La Dovizia (Abundance), a figure from the hand of Donatello on
the column of the Mercato Vecchio in Florence;[101] and it serves also
for many other statues executed by excellent sculptors, not only in this
city, but throughout the territory.

§ 17. _Of Pietra Forte._[102]

The pietra forte is quarried in many places; it resists rain, sun,
frost, and every trial, and demands time to work it, but it behaves very
well; it does not exist in very large blocks.[103] Both by the
Goths[104] and by the moderns have been constructed of this stone the
most beautiful buildings to be found in Tuscany, as can be seen in
Florence in the filling of the two arches, which form the principal
doors of the oratory of Orsanmichele,[105] for these are truly admirable
things and worked with the utmost care. Of this same stone there are
throughout the city, as has been said, many statues and coats of
arms,[106] as for instance in the Fortress and various other places. It
is yellowish in colour with fine white veins that add greatly to its
attractiveness, and it is sometimes employed for statues where there are
to be fountains, because it is not injured by water. The walls of the
palace of the Signori, the Loggia, and Orsanmichele are built of it,
also the whole interior of the fabric of Santa Maria del Fiore, as well
as all the bridges of our city, the Palace of the Pitti and that of the
Strozzi families. It has to be worked with picks because it is very
compact. Similarly, the other stones mentioned above must be treated in
the manner already explained for the working of marble and other sorts
of stones.

§ 18. _Conclusion of Chapter._

After all however, good stones and well tempered tools apart, the one
thing essential is the art, the intelligence, and the judgement of those
who use them, for there is the greatest difference between artists,
although they may all use the same method, as to the measure of grace
and beauty they impart to the works which they execute. This enables us
to discern and to recognize the perfection of the work done by those who
really understand, as opposed to that of others who know less. As,
therefore, all the excellence and beauty of the things most highly
praised consist in that supreme perfection given to them by those who
understand and can judge, it is necessary to strive with all diligence
always to make things beautiful and perfect—nay rather, most beautiful
and most perfect.

CHAPTER II.

The Description of squared Ashlar-work (lavoro di quadro) and of
carved Ashlar-work (lavoro di quadro intagliato).

§ 19. _The work of the Mason._

Having thus considered all the varieties of stone, which our artificers
use either for ornament or for sculpture, let us now go on to say, that
when stone is used for actual building, all that is worked with square
and compasses and that has corners is called squared ashlar work (lavoro
di quadro). The term (quadro) is given, because of the squared faces and
corners, for every order of moulding or anything which is straight,
projecting, or rectangular is work which takes the name of ‘squared,’
and so is it commonly known among the artificers. But when the stone
does not remain plain dressed, but is chiselled into mouldings, friezes,
foliage, eggs, spindles, dentels and other sorts of carving, the work on
the members chosen to be so treated is called by the mason carved ashlar
work (opera di quadro intagliato or lavoro di intaglio). Of this sort of
plain and carved ashlar are constructed all the different Orders,
Rustic, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite, and so too, in the
times of the Goths, the German work[107] (lavoro tedesco): and no kind
of ornament can be made that is not founded on both sorts of the work
above described. It is the same with breccias and marbles and every sort
of stone, and also with bricks, used as a foundation for moulded stucco
work. The same applies to walnut, poplar, and every kind of wood. But,
because many do not recognize the difference between one Order and
another, let us discuss distinctly and as briefly as possible in the
chapter which follows, every mode and manner of these.

CHAPTER III.

Concerning the five Orders of Architecture, Rustic, Doric, Ionic,
Corinthian, Composite, and also German Work.

§ 20. _Rusticated masonry and the Tuscan Order._

The work called Rustic[108] is more stunted, and more massive than that
of any other Order, it being the beginning and foundation of all. The
profiles of the mouldings are simpler and in consequence more beautiful,
as are the capitals and bases as well as every other member. The Rustic
socles or pedestals, as we call them, on which rest the columns, are
square in proportion, with a solid moulding at the foot and another
above which binds it like a cornice. The height of the column measures
six heads,[109] in imitation of people who are dwarfed and adapted to
sustain weights. Of this Order there are to be seen in Tuscany many
colonnades both plain and rusticated, with and also without bosses and
niches between the columns: and many porticoes which the ancients were
accustomed to construct in their villas; and in the country one still
sees many tombs of the kind as at Tivoli and at Pozzuolo. This Order
served the ancients for doors, windows, bridges, aqueducts, treasuries,
castles, towers, and strongholds for storing ammunition and artillery;
also for harbours, prisons and fortresses; in these the stones project
in an effective manner in points like a diamond, or with many facets.
The projections are treated in various ways, either in bosses,
flattened, so as not to act as a ladder on the walls—for it would be
easy to climb up if the bosses jutted out too much—or in other ways, as
one sees in many places, and above all in Florence, in the principal
façade of the chief citadel, built by Alexander, first duke of
Florence.[110] This façade, out of respect to the Medici emblems, is
made with ornaments of diamond points and flattened pellets, but both in
low relief. The wall composed of pellets and diamonds side by side is
very rich and varied and most beautiful to look at. There is abundance
of this work at the villas of the Florentines, the gates and entrances,
and at the houses and palaces where they pass the summer, which not only
beautify and adorn that neighbourhood, but are also of the greatest use
and convenience to the citizens. But much more is the city itself
enriched with magnificent buildings, decorated with rusticated masonry,
as for example the Casa Medici, the façade of the Pitti Palace, the
palace of the Strozzi family and innumerable others. When well designed,
the more solid and simple the building, the more skill and beauty do we
perceive in it, and this kind of work is necessarily more lasting and
durable than all others, seeing that the pieces of stone are bigger and
the assemblage much better, all the building being in bond, one stone
with another. Moreover, because the members are smooth and massive, the
chances of fortune and of weather cannot injure them so severely as the
stones that are carved and undercut, or, as we say here, ‘suspended in
the air’ by the cleverness of the sculptors.

[Illustration:

FIG. 3.—Fortezza da Basso at Florence.
]

§ 21. _The Doric Order._

[Illustration:

FIG. 4.—Rusticated masonry on the exterior of the Fortezza da Basso at
Florence.
]

The Doric Order was the most massive known to the Greeks, more robust
both as to strength and mass, and much less open than their other
Orders. And not only the Greeks but the Romans also dedicated this sort
of building to those who were warriors, such as generals of armies,
consuls, praetors—and much more often to their gods, as Jove, Mars,
Hercules and others. According to the rank and character of these the
buildings were carefully distinguished—made plain or carved, simple or
rich—so that all could recognize the grade and the position of the
different dignitaries to whom they were dedicated,[111] or of him who
ordered them to be built. Consequently one sees that the ancients
applied much art in the composition of their buildings, that the
profiles of the Doric mouldings are very graceful, and the features
harmonious and of a high degree of beauty; and also that the proportion
of the shafts of the columns is very well understood, as they are
neither too thick nor too thin. The form of the columns, as is commonly
said, resembles that of Hercules; it shows a certain solidity capable of
sustaining the weight of the architraves, friezes, cornices and the rest
of the upper parts of the building. Because this Order, as more secure
and stable than the others, has always much pleased Duke Cosimo, he
desires that the building, which he has charged me to construct for
thirteen civil magistrates of his city and dominion, should be of the
Doric Order. This building is to have splendid decoration in stone, and
is to be placed between his own palace and the river Arno.[112]
Therefore, in order to bring back into use the true mode of
construction, which requires the architraves to lie level over the
columns, and avoid the falsity of turning the arches of the arcades
above the capital, I have followed in the principal façade the actual
method of the ancients, as can be seen in the edifice. This fashion of
building has been avoided by architects of the recent past, because
stone architraves of every sort both ancient and modern are all, or the
greater part of them, seen to be broken in the middle, notwithstanding
that above the solid of the columns and of the architraves, frieze, and
cornice, there are flat arches of brick that are not in contact with and
do not load the work below. Now, after much consideration on the whole
question, I have finally found an excellent way of putting into use the
true mode of proceeding so as to give security to the said architraves,
by which they are prevented from suffering in any part and everything
remains as sound and safe as can be desired, as the result has proved.
This then, is the method, that is stated here below for the benefit of
the world at large and of the artificers.

[Illustration:

FIG. 5.—Construction of the portico of the Uffizi at Florence, from
Vasari’s description.
]

§ 22. _A constructive device to avoid charging architraves._[113]

Having set up the columns, and above the capitals the architraves, which
are brought into contact the one with the other above the middle axis of
the column, the builder proceeds to make a square block or die (D, D,
Fig. 5). For example, if the column be a braccio thick and the
architraves the same in width[114] and height, let the die in the frieze
be made equal to them; but in front let there remain an eighth in the
face for the vertical joint, and let another eighth or more have a
sinking into the die on each side, bevelled to an angle of 45°, Fig. 5
(1). Then since the frieze in each intercolumniation is in three pieces
(B, A, B), let the two at the sides (B, B) have bevelled projections in
the opposite sense to the sinkings, increasing from within outwards,
Fig. 5 (2), so that each may be mortised in the die and be keyed after
the manner of an arch, and in the front the amount of the eighth must
bond vertically; while the part on the other side must do the same to
the other die. And so above the column[115] one must arrange that the
piece in the middle of the said frieze closes within and is recessed in
quarter-round form up to the middle, while the other half must be
squared and straight and set with an empty space below, in order that it
may hold as does an arch, the wall on the external face appearing worked
with vertical joints.[116] Do not let the stones of the said frieze rest
on the architrave, but let a finger’s breadth be between them; in this
way, making an arch, the frieze comes to support itself and does not
burden the architrave. Afterwards make on the inside, for filling up the
said frieze, a flat arch of bricks as high as the frieze, that stretches
from die to die above the columns. Then make a piece of cornice as wide
as the die[117] above the columns, which has the joints in front like
those of the frieze, and within let the said cornice be keyed like the
blocks of the frieze, care being taken to make the cornice, as the
frieze, in three pieces, of which the two at the sides hold from within
the middle piece of the cornice above the die of the frieze,[118] and
mind that the middle piece of the cornice, C, C, slips down into the
sinkings so as to span the void, and unites the two pieces at the sides
so as to lock them in the form of an arch. In this fashion everyone can
see that the frieze sustains itself, as does the cornice, which rests
almost entirely on the arch of bricks.[119] Thus one thing helping
another, it comes about that the architrave does not sustain any but its
own weight, nor is there danger of its ever being broken by too heavy a
load. Because experience shows this method to be the most sure, I have
wished to make particular mention of it, for the convenience and benefit
of all; especially as I know that when the frieze and the cornice were
put above the architrave as was the practice of the ancients, the latter
broke in course of time, possibly on account of an earthquake or other
accident, the arch of discharge which was introduced above the cornice
not being sufficient to preserve it. But throwing the arches above the
cornices made in this form, and linking them together with iron, as
usual,[120] secures the whole from every danger and makes the building
endure eternally.

Returning to the matter in hand, let us explain then that this fashion
of work may be used by itself alone, or can be employed in the second
floor from the ground level, above the Rustic Order, or it can be put
higher up above another variety of Order such as Ionic, Corinthian or
Composite, in the manner shown by the ancients in the Colosseum in Rome,
in which arrangement they used skill and judgement. The Romans, having
triumphed not only over the Greeks but over the whole world, put the
Composite Order at the top, of which Order the Tuscans have composed
many varieties. They placed it above all, as superior in force, grace,
and beauty, and as more striking than the others, to be a crown to the
building; for to be adorned with beautiful members gives to the work an
honourable completion and leaves nothing more to be desired.

§ 23. _The proportions and parts of the Doric Order._

To return to the Doric Order, I may state that the column is made seven
heads in height. Its pedestal must be a little less than a square and a
half in height and a square in width,[121] then above are placed its
mouldings and beneath its base with torus and two fillets, as Vitruvius
directs. The base and capital are of equal height, reckoning the capital
from the astragal upwards. The cornice with the frieze and architrave
attached projects over every column, with those grooved features,
usually called triglyphs, which have square spaces[122] interposed
between the projections, within which are the skulls of oxen, or
trophies, or masks, or shields, or other fancies. The architrave,
jutting out, binds these projections with a fillet, and under the fillet
are little strips square in section, at the foot of each of which are
six drops, called by the ancients ‘guttae’ (goccie). If the column in
the Doric order is to be seen fluted, there must be twenty hollow facets
instead of flutes,[123] and nothing between the flutes but the sharp
arris. Of this sort of work there is an example in Rome at the Forum
Boarium which is most rich;[124] and of another sort are the mouldings
and other members in the theatre of Marcellus, where to-day is the
Piazza Montanara, in which work there are no bases (to the Doric
columns) and those bases which are visible are Corinthian. It is thought
that the ancients did not make bases, but instead placed there a
pedestal of the same size as the base would have been. This is to be met
with in Rome by the prison of the Tullianum where also are capitals
richer in members than others which appear in the Doric Order.[125] Of
this same order Antonio da San Gallo has made the inner court of the
Casa Farnese in the Campo di Fiore at Rome, which is highly decorated
and beautiful; thus one sees continually ancient and modern temples and
palaces in this style, which for stability and assemblage of the stones
have held together better and lasted longer than all other edifices.

[Illustration:

FIG. 6.—Drawing by Giuliano da San Gallo of a portion of the Basilica
Aemilia in the Roman Forum, that survived to the time of Vasari.
]

§ 24. _The Ionic Order._

[Illustration:

FIG. 7.—Roman Doric cap, with stucco finish, at S. Nicola in Carcere,
Rome.
]

The Ionic Order, more slender than the Doric, was made by the ancients
in imitation of persons who stand mid-way between the fragile and the
robust; a proof of this is its adoption in works dedicated to Apollo,
Diana, and Bacchus, and sometimes to Venus. The pedestal which sustains
the column is one and a half squares high and one wide, and the
mouldings, above and below, are in accordance with this Order. Its
column measures in height eight times the head, and its base is double
with two tori, as described by Vitruvius in the third chapter of his
third book. Its capital with its volutes or scrolls or spirals, as
anyone may call them, should be well turned, as one sees in the theatre
of Marcellus in Rome, above the Doric Order; and its cornice adorned
with modillions and with dentils, and its frieze slightly convex
(pulvinated). Should it be desired to flute the columns, there must be
twenty-four flutes, but divided in such a manner as to leave between
each two of them a flat piece that measures the fourth part of the
flute. This order has in itself the most beautiful lightness and grace
and is consequently adopted by modern architects.

§ 25. _The Corinthian Order._

The Corinthian style was invariably a favourite among the Romans, who
delighted in it so greatly that they chose this Order for their most
elaborate and most prized buildings to remain as a memorial of
themselves; as is seen in the Temple at Tivoli above the Teverone, in
the remains of the temple of Peace,[126] in the arch of Pola, and in
that of the harbour of Ancona; but much more beautiful is the Pantheon,
that is the Ritonda of Rome. This Order is the richest and most
decorated of all the Orders spoken of above. The pedestal that supports
the column is measured in the following way; a square and two thirds
wide (high)[127] and the mouldings above and below in proportion,
according to Vitruvius[128]: the height of the column nine heads with
base and capital, which last shall be in height the diameter of the
column at the foot, and its base half of the said thickness. This base
the ancients used to carve in various ways. Let the ornament of the
capital be fashioned with its tendrils and its leaves, as Vitruvius
directs in the fourth book, where he records that this capital has been
taken from the tomb of a Corinthian girl. Then follow its proper
architrave, frieze and cornice measured as he describes, all carved with
the modillions and ovolos and other sorts of carving under the drip. The
friezes of this Order may be carved with leafage, or again they may be
plain, or adorned with letters of bronze let into marble, as those on
the portico of the Ritonda. There are twenty-six flutes in the
Corinthian columns, although sometimes also there are fewer, and the
fourth part of the width of each flute remains flat between every two,
as is evident in many ancient works and in modern works copied from the
ancients.

§ 26. _The Composite Order._

The Composite Order, although Vitruvius has not made mention of
it—having taken account of none others than the Doric, Ionic,
Corinthian, and Tuscan, and holding those artists lawless, who, taking
from all four Orders, constructed out of them bodies that represented to
him monsters rather than men—the Composite Order has nevertheless been
much used by the Romans and in imitation of them by the moderns. I shall
therefore proceed, to the end that all may have notice of it, to explain
and give the proportions of buildings in this Order also, for I am
convinced of this, that if the Greeks and Romans created these first
four Orders and reduced them to a general rule and measure, there may
have been those who have done the same for the Composite Order, forming
of it things much more graceful than ever did the ancients.

As an example of the truth of this I quote the works of Michelagnolo
Buonarroti in the Sacristy and Library of San Lorenzo in Florence, where
the doors, niches, bases, columns, capitals, mouldings, consoles and
indeed all the details, have received from him something of the new and
of the Composite Order, and nevertheless are wonderful, not to say
beautiful. The same merit in even greater measure is exhibited by the
said Michelagnolo in the second story of the Court of the Casa
Farnese[129] and again in the cornice which supports on the exterior the
roof of that palace. He who wishes to see in this manner of work the
proof of this man’s excellence—of truly celestial origin—in art and
design of various kinds, let him consider that which he has accomplished
in the fabric of St. Peter’s in compacting together the body of that
edifice and in making so many sorts of various and novel ornaments, such
beautiful profiles of mouldings, so many different niches and numerous
other things, all invented by him and treated differently from the
custom of the ancients. Therefore no one can deny that this new
Composite Order, which through Michelagnolo has attained to such
perfection, may be worthily compared with the others. In truth, the
worth and capacity of this truly excellent sculptor, painter, and
architect have worked miracles wherever he has put forth his hand.
Besides all the other things that are clear as daylight, he has
rectified sites which were out of the straight and reduced to perfection
many buildings and other objects of the worst form, covering with lovely
and fanciful decoration the defects of nature and art.[130] In our days
certain vulgar architects, not considering these things judiciously and
not imitating them, have worked presumptuously and without design almost
as if by chance, without observing ornament, art, or any order. All
their things are monstrous and worse than the German.

Returning now to our subject, it has become usual for this manner of
work to be called by some the ‘Composite,’ by others the ‘Latin,’ and by
others again the ‘Italic’ Order. The measure of the height of this
column must be ten heads, the base the half of the diameter of the
column, measured in the same way as the Corinthian column, as we see in
the arch of Titus Vespasianus in Rome. And he who wishes to make flutes
in this column can do so, following the plan of the Ionian or Corinthian
column—or in any way that pleases him who adopts this style of
architecture, which is a mixture of all the Orders. The capitals may be
made like those of the Corinthian except that the echinus moulding of
the capital must be larger and the volutes or tendrils somewhat larger,
as we see in the above mentioned arch. The architrave must be three
quarters of the thickness of the column and the rest of the frieze
supplied with modillions, and the cornice equal to the architrave,
because the projection gives the cornice an increase of size, as one
sees in the uppermost story of the Roman Colosseum; and in the said
modillions grooves can be cut after the manner of triglyphs, and there
can be other carving according to the taste of the architect; the
pedestal on which the column rests must be two squares high, with the
mouldings just as he pleases.

§ 27. _Of Terminal Figures._

The ancients were accustomed to use for doors or sepulchres or other
kinds of enrichment, various sorts of terminal figures instead of
columns, here a figure which has a basket on the head for capital, there
a figure down to the waist, the rest, towards the base, a cone or a tree
trunk; in the same way they made virgins, chubby infants, satyrs, and
other sorts of monsters or grotesque objects, just as it suited them,
and according as the ideas occurred to them so the works were put into
operation.

§ 28. _German Work (the Gothic Style)._

We come at last to another sort of work called German, which both in
ornament and in proportion is very different from the ancient and the
modern. Nor is it adopted now by the best architects but is avoided by
them as monstrous and barbarous, and lacking everything that can be
called order. Nay it should rather be called confusion and disorder. In
their buildings, which are so numerous that they sickened the world,
doorways are ornamented with columns which are slender and twisted like
a screw, and cannot have the strength to sustain a weight, however light
it may be. Also on all the façades, and wherever else there is
enrichment, they built a malediction of little niches one above the
other, with no end of pinnacles and points and leaves, so that, not to
speak of the whole erection seeming insecure, it appears impossible that
the parts should not topple over at any moment. Indeed they have more
the appearance of being made of paper than of stone or marble. In these
works they made endless projections and breaks and corbellings and
flourishes that throw their works all out of proportion; and often, with
one thing being put above another, they reach such a height that the top
of a door touches the roof. This manner was the invention of the Goths,
for, after they had ruined the ancient buildings, and killed the
architects in the wars, those who were left constructed the buildings in
this style.[131] They turned the arches with pointed segments, and
filled all Italy with these abominations of buildings, so in order not
to have any more of them their style has been totally abandoned.

May God protect every country from such ideas and style of buildings!
They are such deformities in comparison with the beauty of our buildings
that they are not worthy that I should talk more about them, and
therefore let us pass on to speak of the vaults.

CHAPTER IV.

On forming Vaults in Concrete, to be impressed with Enrichment: when
the Centerings are to be removed, and how to mix the Plaster.

§ 29. _The Construction of enriched Stucco Vaults._

When walls have reached the point where the arches of brick or light
stone or tufa have to spring, it is necessary to turn a centering with
planks in a close circle, over the framework of struts or boarding. The
planks are fitted together according to the form of the vault, or in the
shape of a boat, and this centering for the vaults must be fixed with
strong props in whatever mode you wish, so that the material above does
not strain it by its weight; and afterwards every crevice, in the
middle, in the corners, and everywhere, must be firmly stopped up with
clay so that when the concrete is spread the mixture shall not filter
through. This finished, above that surface of boards they make caissons
of wood, which are to be worked contrariwise, with projections where a
hollow is wanted; in the same way let the mouldings and details that we
wish to make be worked by opposites, so that when the material is cast,
it may come, where (the mould is) hollow, in relief; where in relief,
hollow, and thus similarly must all the members of the mouldings be
arranged. Whether the vault is to be smooth or enriched, it is equally
necessary to have shapes of wood, which mould the desired forms in clay;
with this clay also are made the square panels for such decoration, and
these are joined the one to the other on the flat or by mouldings or
enriched bands, which can be made to follow the line of this centering.
Having finished covering it all with enrichments of clay, formed in
intaglio and fitted together, as was said above, one must then take
lime, with pozzolana earth or sand riddled finely, mixed liquid and
mostly lime, and of that lay evenly a coating over all, till every mould
is full. Afterwards, above this coating make the vault with bricks,
raising or lowering them according as the vault turns, and continually
adding till the arch be closed. This done, it must all be left to set
and get firm, till the work be dry and solid.[132] Then when the props
are removed and the vault is left free, the clay is easily taken away
and all the work remains modelled and worked as if done in stucco, and
those parts that have not come out well are gone over with stucco till
they are complete. In this manner have been executed all the works in
the ancient edifices, which had afterwards stucco enrichment upon them.
This the moderns have done to-day in the vaults of St. Peter’s, and many
other masters throughout Italy have done the same.

§ 30. _Stucco made with Marble Dust._

Now let us show how the stucco is mixed.[133] Chips of marble are
pounded in a stone mortar; no other lime is used for this stucco save
white lime made either of marble chips or of travertine; instead of sand
the pounded marble is taken and is sifted finely and kneaded with the
lime, in the proportion of two thirds lime to one third pounded marble.
The stucco is made coarser or finer, according as one wishes to work
coarsely or finely. Enough now of stuccoes because the rest will be said
later, when I shall treat of them in connection with Sculpture. Before
passing to this subject, we shall speak briefly of fountains which are
made for walls and of their various ornaments.

CHAPTER V.

How Rustic Fountains are made with Stalactites and Incrustations from
water, and how Cockle shells and Conglomerations of vitrified stone
are built into the Stucco.

§ 31. _Grottoes and Fountains of ‘Rocaille’ work._

The fountains which the ancients made for their palaces, gardens, and
other places, were of different kinds; some stood alone, with basins and
vases of different sorts, others were attached to the walls, and bore
niches with masks, figures, or ornaments suggesting the sea; others
again for use in hot baths, were simpler and plainer, and finally others
resembled woodland springs that rise naturally in the groves; while
those which the moderns have made and continue to make are also of
different kinds. The moderns, always varying them, have added to the
inventions of the ancients, compositions of Tuscan work,[134] covered
with stalactites from petrified waters, which hang down resembling
roots, formed in the lapse of time of congelations of such waters as are
hard and are charged with sediment. These exist not only at Tivoli,
where the river Teverone petrifies the branches of trees, and all
objects that come in contact with it, turning them into gum-like
exudations and stalactites; but also at the lake Piè di Lupo,[135] where
the stalactites are very large; and in Tuscany at the river Elsa,[136]
whose water makes them clear so that they look like marble, glass, or
artificial crystals. But the most beautiful and curious of all are found
behind Monte Morello[137] also in Tuscany, eight miles from Florence. Of
this sort Duke Cosimo has had made in his garden at Olmo near
Castello[138] the rustic ornaments of the fountains executed by the
sculptor Tribolo. These stalactites removed from where nature has
produced them are introduced into work done by the artificer and fixed
with iron bars, with branches soldered with lead or in some other way,
or they are grafted into the stones so as to hang suspended. They are
fixed on to the Tuscan work in such a way as to leave it here and there
exposed to view. Then by adjusting leaden tubes hidden between these
stalactites, and distributing holes among them, jets of water are made
to pour out, when a key at the entrance of the conduit is turned; and
thus are arranged pipes for water and various jets through which the
water rains down among the incrustations of these stalactites, and in
falling sounds sweet to the ear and is beautiful to the eye.

There is also another kind of grotto, of a more rustic fashion,
imitating sylvan fountains in the following way. Some take sponge-like
stones and joining them together sow grass over them, thus, with an
order which appears disorder and wild, the grottoes are rendered very
natural and real. Others make smoother and more polished grottoes of
stucco, in which are mingled both stones and stucco, and while the
stucco is fresh they insert, in bands and compartments, knobs or bosses,
cockle shells, sea snails, tortoise shells, shells large and small, some
showing the outside and some the reverse: and of these they make flower
vases and festoons, in which the cockle shells represent the leaves, and
other varieties of shells the fruit;[139] and to these they add shells
of turtles, as is seen in the vineyard at the foot of Monte Mario that
Pope Clement VII, when still Cardinal, had made by the advice of
Giovanni da Udine.[140]

Again a rustic and very beautiful mosaic in many colours is made by
using little bits of old bricks that have been too much baked, and
pieces of glass which has run owing to the pans of glass bursting in an
overheated furnace. The work is done by sticking these bits into the
stucco on the wall as was said above, and arranging between them corals
and other spoils from the sea, things in themselves full of grace and
beauty. Thus are made animals and figures, covered with the shells
already mentioned as well as with coloured pastes in various pieces
arranged in rustic fashion, very quaint to look upon. There have been
many fountains of this kind recently set up at Rome, which by their
charm have incited the minds of countless persons to be lovers of such
work. Another kind of ornament entirely rustic is also used now-a-days
for fountains, and is applied in the following manner. First the
skeleton of the figure or any other object desired is made and plastered
over with mortar or stucco, then the exterior is covered in the fashion
of mosaic, with pieces of white or coloured marble, according to the
object designed, or else with certain little many coloured pebbles: and
these when carefully worked have a long life. The stucco with which they
build up and work these things is the same that we have before
described, and when once set it holds them securely on the walls. To
such fountains pavements are made of sling-stones, that is, round and
flat river pebbles, set on edge and in ripples as water goes, with
excellent effect. Others, for the finer fountains, make pavements with
little tiles of terra cotta in various divisions and glazed in the fire,
as in clay vases painted in various colours and with painted ornaments
and leafage; but this sort of pavement is more suitable for hot-air
chambers and baths than for fountains.[141]

[Illustration:

PLATE IV

INTERIOR OF GROTTO IN BOBOLI GARDENS, FLORENCE

Showing an unfinished statue ascribed to Michelangelo
]

CHAPTER VI.

On the manner of making Pavements of Tesselated Work.

§ 32. _Mosaic Pavements._

There are no possible devices in any department that the ancients did
not find out or at any rate try very hard to discover,—devices I mean
that bring delight and refreshment to the eyes of men. They invented
then, among other beautiful things, stone pavements diversified with
various blendings of porphyry, serpentine, and granite, with round and
square or other divisions, whence they went on to conceive the
fabrication of ornamental bands, leafage, and other sorts of designs and
figures. Therefore to prepare the work the better to receive such
treatment, they cut the marble into little pieces, so that these being
small they could be turned about for the background and the field, in
round schemes or lines straight or twisted, as came most conveniently.
From the joining together of these pieces they called the work
mosaic,[142] and used it in the pavements of many of their buildings, as
we still see in the Baths of Caracalla in Rome and in other places,
where the mosaic is made with little squares of marble, that form
leaves, masks, and other fancies, while the background for these is
composed of squares of white marble and other small squares of black.
The work was set about in the following manner. First was spread a layer
of fresh stucco of lime and marble dust thick enough to hold firmly in
itself the pieces fitting into each other, so that when set they could
be polished smooth on the top; these in the drying make an admirably
compacted concrete, which is not hurt by the wear of footsteps nor by
water. Therefore this work having come into the highest estimation,
clever people set themselves to study it further, as it is always easy
to add something valuable to an invention already found out. So they
made the marble mosaics finer, and of these, laid pavements both for
baths and for hot rooms, and with the most subtle mastery and diligence
they delicately fashioned various fishes in them, and imitated painting
with many colours suitable for that work, and with many different sorts
of marbles, introducing also among these some pieces cut into little
mosaic squares of the bones of fishes which have a lustrous
surface.[143] And so life-like did they make the fishes, that water
placed above them, veiling them a little, even though clear, made them
appear actually alive in the pavements; as is seen in Parione in Rome,
in the house of Messer Egidio and Fabio Sasso.[144]

§ 33. _Pictorial Mosaics for Walls, etc._

Therefore, this mosaic work appearing to them a picture, capable of
resisting to all eternity water, wind, and sunshine, and because they
considered such work much more effective far off than near, the ancients
disposed it so as to decorate vaults and walls, where such things had to
be seen at a distance, for at a distance one would not perceive the
pieces of mosaic which when near are easily distinguished. Then because
the mosaics were lustrous and withstood water and damp, it was thought
that such work might be made of glass, and so it was done, and producing
hereby the most beautiful effect they adorned their temples and other
places with it, as we still see in our own days at Rome in the Temple of
Bacchus[145] and elsewhere.[146] Just as from marble mosaics are derived
those which we now call in our time glass mosaics, so from the mosaic of
glass we have passed on to egg-shell mosaic,[147] and from this to the
mosaic in which figures and groups in light and shade are formed
entirely of tesserae, though the effect is like painting; this we shall
describe in its own place in the chapters on that art.[148]

CHAPTER VII.

How one is to recognize if a Building have good Proportions, and of
what Members it should generally be composed.

§ 34. _The principles of Planning and Design._

But since talking of particular things would make me turn aside too much
from my purpose, I leave this minute consideration to the writers on
architecture, and shall only say in general how good buildings can be
recognized, and what is requisite to their form to secure both utility
and beauty. Suppose then one comes to an edifice and wishes to see
whether it has been planned by an excellent architect and how much
ability he has shown, also whether the architect has known how to
accommodate himself to the site, as well as to the wishes of him who
ordered the structure to be built, one must consider the following
questions. First, whether he who has raised it from the foundation has
thought if the spot were a suitable one and capable of receiving
buildings of that style and extent, and (granted that the site is
suitable) how the building should be divided into rooms, and how the
enrichment on the walls be disposed in view of the nature of the site
which may be extensive or confined, elevated or low-lying. One must
consider also whether the edifice has been tastefully arranged and in
convenient proportion, and whether there has been furnished and
distributed the proper kind and number of columns, windows, doors, and
junctions of wall-faces, both within and without, in the given height
and thickness of the walls; in short whether every detail is suitable in
and for its own place. It is necessary that there should be distributed
throughout the building, rooms which have their proper arrangement of
doors, windows, passages, secret staircases, anterooms, lavatories,
cabinets, and that no mistakes be apparent therein. For example there
should be a large hall, a small portico or lesser apartments, which
being members of the edifice, must necessarily, even as members of the
human body, be equally arranged and distributed according to the style
and complexity of the buildings; just as there are temples round, or
octagonal, or six sided, or square, or in the form of a cross, and also
various Orders, according to the position and rank of the person who has
the buildings constructed, for when designed by a skilful hand these
exhibit very happily the excellence of the workman and the spirit of the
author of the fabric.

§ 35. _An ideal Palace._

To make the matter clearer, let us here imagine a palace,[149] and this
will give us light on other buildings, so that we may be able to
recognize, when we see them, whether they are well fashioned or no.
First, then, if we consider the principal front, we shall see it raised
from the ground either above a range of outside stairs or basement
walls, so that standing thus freely the building should seem to rise
with grandeur from the ground, while the kitchens and cellars under
ground are more clearly lighted and of greater elevation. This also
greatly protects the edifice from earthquakes and other accidents of
fortune. Then it must represent the body of a man in the whole and
similarly in the parts; and as it has to fear wind, water, and other
natural forces it should be drained with sewers, that must be all in
connection with a central conduit that carries away all the filth and
smells that might generate sickness. In its first aspect the façade
demands beauty and grandeur, and should be divided as is the face of a
man. The door must be low down and in the middle, as in the head the
mouth of the man, through which passes every sort of food; the windows
for the eyes, one on this side, one on that, observing always parity,
that there be as much ornament, and as many arches, columns, pilasters,
niches, jutting windows, or any other sort of enrichment, on this side
as on that; regard being had to the proportions and Orders already
explained, whether Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, or Tuscan. The cornice
which supports the roof must be made proportionate to the façade
according to its size, that rainwater may not drench the façade and him
who is seated at the street front. The projection must be in proportion
to the height and breadth of the façade. Entering within, let the first
vestibule have a great amplitude, and let it be arranged to join
fittingly with the entrance corridor, through which everything passes;
let it be free and wide, so that the press of horses or of crowds on
foot, that often congregate there, shall not do themselves any hurt in
the entrance on fête days or on other brilliant occasions. The
courtyard, representing the trunk, should be square and equal, or else a
square and a half, like all the parts of the body, and within there
should be doors and well-arranged apartments with beautiful decoration.
The public staircase needs to be convenient and easy to ascend, of
spacious width and ample height, but only in accordance with the
proportion of the other parts. Besides all this, the staircases should
be adorned or copiously furnished with lights, and, at least over every
landing-place where there are turns, should have windows or other
apertures. In short, the staircases demand an air of magnificence in
every part, seeing that many people see the stairs and not the rest of
the house. It may be said that they are the arms and legs of the body,
therefore as the arms are at the sides of a man so ought the stairs to
be in the wings of the edifice. Nor shall I omit to say that the height
of the risers ought to be one fifth of a braccio at least,[150] and
every tread two thirds wide,[151] that is, as has been said, in the
stairs of public buildings and in others in proportion; because when
they are steep neither children nor old people can go up them, and they
make the legs ache. This feature is most difficult to place in
buildings, and notwithstanding that it is the most frequented and most
common, it often happens that in order to save the rooms the stairs are
spoiled. It is also necessary that the reception rooms and other
apartments downstairs should form one common hall for the summer, with
chambers to accommodate many persons, while upstairs the parlours and
saloons and the various apartments should all open into the largest one.
In the same manner should be arranged the kitchens and other places,
because if there were not this order and if the whole composition were
broken up, one thing high, another low, this great and that small, it
would represent lame men, halt, distorted, and maimed. Such works would
merit only blame, and no praise whatever. When there are decorated
wall-faces either external or internal, the compositions must follow the
rules of the Orders in the matter of the columns, so that the shafts of
the columns be not too long nor slender, not over thick nor short, but
that the dignity of the several Orders be always observed. Nor should a
heavy capital or base be connected with a slender column, but in
proportion to the body must be the members, that they may have an
elegant and beautiful appearance and design. All these things are best
appreciated by a correct eye, which, if it have discrimination, can hold
the true compasses and estimate exact measurements, because by it alone
shall be awarded praise or blame. And this is enough to have said in a
general sense of architecture, because to speak of it in any other way
is not matter for this place.

NOTES ON ‘INTRODUCTION’ TO ARCHITECTURE

PORPHYRY AND PORPHYRY QUARRIES.

[See § 2, _Of Porphyry_, ante, p. 26.]

Porphyry, which is mineralogically described as consisting of crystals
of plagioclase felspar in a purple felspathic paste, is a very hard
stone of beautiful colour susceptible of a high polish. ‘No material,’
it has been said, ‘can approach it, either in colour, fineness of grain,
hardness or toughness. When used alone its colour is always grand; and
in combination with any other coloured material, although displaying its
nature conspicuously, it is always harmonious’ (_Transactions_, Royal
Institute of British Architects, 1887, p. 48). Though obtained, as
Vasari knew, from Egypt, it was not known to the dynastic Egyptians, but
was exploited with avidity by the Romans of the later imperial period.
The earliest mention of it seems to be in Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XXXVI,
11, under the name ‘porphyrites’ and statues in the material were
according to this author sent for the first time to Rome from Egypt in
the reign of Claudius. The new material was however not approved of, and
for some time was by no means in fashion. It was not indeed till the age
of the Antonines that as Helbig remarks ‘the preference for costly and
rare varieties of stone, without reference to their adaptability for
sculpture, began to spread.’ After this epoch, the taste for porphyry
and other such strongly marked or else intractable materials grew till
it became a passion, and the Byzantine emperors carried on the tradition
of its use inherited by them from the later days of paganism. The
material was quarried in the mountains known as Djebel Duchan near the
coast of the Red Sea, almost opposite the southern point of the
peninsula of Sinai, and the Romans carried the blocks a distance of
nearly 100 miles to Koptos on the Nile whence they were transported down
stream to Alexandria, where Mr Brindley thinks there would be reserve
dépôts where lapidaries and artists resided, a source of supply for the
large quantities used by Constantine. The same authority estimates that
there must be about 300 monolith porphyry pillars still extant in
Europe, the finest being the eight great columns under the side apses in
S. Sophia, Constantinople. The most important of all porphyry monuments
is the column, 100 feet high, which Constantine erected at
Constantinople where it still stands though somewhat mutilated and
damaged by fire. It consisted in nine cylindrical drums each 11 feet
long and 11 feet in diameter.

The quarries, as Vasari later on remarks, were in his time not known,
and seem never to have been worked since the time of the Romans. The
site of them was visited by Sir Gardner Wilkinson in 1823, and they were
rediscovered by Mr Brindley in 1887. If they are again to be worked, the
material will now be transferred to the Red Sea coast, distant only
about 20 miles. Mr Brindley’s account of his expedition, with notes on
the material, is contained in the _Transactions_ of the Royal Institute
of British Architects for 1888.

THE SASSI, DELLA VALLE, AND OTHER COLLECTIONS OF ANTIQUES OF THE EARLY
PART OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

[See §§ 2, 32, ante, pp. 28, 93.]

In chapters I and VI of the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture Vasari refers
to the ‘casa di Egizio e di Fabio Sasso’ and the ‘casa di messer Egidio
e Fabio Sasso’ ‘in Parione.’ Parione is that one of the 14 wards or
‘rioni’ of Rome that lies to the south of the Piazza Navona, and
according to Gregorovius (_Geschichte der Stadt Rom im Mittelalter_,
Stutt., 1886, etc., III, 537) the name is connected with the Latin
‘parietes,’ ‘walls,’ and was derived from the ruins of the Theatre of
Pompeius, that bulked largely within its borders. There is now a ‘Via
Parione’ to the west of the Piazza Navona, but older plans of near
Vasari’s time show that the name was then applied to the more important
thoroughfare south of the piazza, which is now called ‘Via del Governo
Vecchio.’ The truth is that the present Via Parione should be called, as
marked on older maps, ‘Via di S. Tommaso in Parione,’ beside which
church it runs, and should not have been allowed to usurp the old
historical name.

Among the families noted by Gregorovius as inhabiting this region were
the Sassi, who, he says (VII, 708), possessed there ‘a great palace with
many antiques.’ A notice of the Sassi, in the _Archivio della R. Società
Romana di Storia Patria_, Roma, vol. XX, p. 479, tells us that they were
among the most illustrious families of the ‘rione.’ In 1157 one Giovanni
Sassi was a senator of Rome, and the family was especially flourishing
in the fifteenth century, but later on declined. Branches of the Sassi
stock still exist. When Vasari was in Rome in the service of the
Cardinal Ippolito de’ Medici, about 1530, one branch at any rate of the
family was represented by a certain Fabio Sasso and his brother, whom
Vasari calls ‘Egidius’ but who appears in a document quoted by Lanciani
(_Storia degli Scavi di Roma_, Roma, 1902, I, 177) as ‘Decidius,’ who
possessed the family palace with its antiques, situated a little west of
S. Tommaso in Parione. When Michaelis wrote the paper presently to be
noticed, the exact situation of the palace was not identified, but the
Conte Gnoli, the learned and courteous director of the Biblioteca
Vittorio Emanuele, has pointed out the remains of the Sassi habitation
at No. 48 in the present Via del Governo Vecchio, where an early
Renaissance doorway bears above it the cognizance of the family, and
below on one jamb the syllable ‘DOM’ and on the other ‘SAX’ (Domus
Saxorum). The house in general, which is claimed by legend as the
residence of Raphael’s Fornarina, has been reconstructed. The plan, Fig.
8, is taken from a large map of Rome dating 1748 and shows this
particularly interesting portion of the city as it was before recent
changes. The line of the present Corso Vittorio Emanuele is shown by
dotted strokes.

By the middle of the sixteenth century the family fortunes had declined,
and in his will made in 1556 Fabio records that he had let all his three
houses in Parione. This may account for the fact that no Palazzo Sassi
occurs in the lists of Roman palaces of the seventeenth century.
Furthermore, in 1546 the two brothers effected a sale of their antiques
to the Duke Ottavio Farnese, who transferred them to the then newly
erected Farnese palace. See text of Vasari, ante p. 28, and Lanciani,
l.c.

When Vasari first knew the Sassi collection it was one of the best in
Rome, and Michaelis (_Jahrbuch d. deutschen Archeologischen Instituts_,
1891, p. 170) quotes two writers of the early part of the century who
praise it. Moreover there exists a contemporary drawing of the antiques
and the court in which they were kept, that Michaelis (l.c.) has
published. The early notices just referred to, and the notes of
Aldovrandi (Mauro, _Le Antichità della Città di Roma_, Venet. 1556, p.
147) who saw the works in the Farnese collection in 1550, give
prominence to the two pieces that are specially mentioned by Vasari. The
‘figura a sedere di braccia tre e mezzo’ in porphyry (ante, p. 28) is
described by Aldovrandi (p. 147) as ‘un bellissimo simulacro di una Roma
trionfante assisa,’ partly in porphyry and partly in bronze, and as
having been formerly in the house of Messer Fabio Sasso. The statue has
passed with the Farnese antiques to Naples, where it was numbered when
Michaelis wrote, 212 b. It is now recognized as not a ‘Rome’ but a
seated Apollo fully draped, and is numbered 6281.

The other one of the Sassi antiques mentioned by Vasari is referred to
in the text § 7, ante, p. 42, as ‘una figura in Parione d’ uno
ermafrodito’ in the stone called ‘paragone’ or ‘touchstone.’ This is
also praised by the earlier writers, and is seen in the drawing which
Michaelis has published. Aldovrandi calls it (p. 152) ‘uno Hermafrodito
di paragone, maggiore del naturale’ and notes its provenance. It is the
‘Apollo’ at Naples, No. 6262, and Michaelis gives the material as
basalt. It is noticed by Winckelmann as an Apollo.

The della Valle collection was more important than that of the Sassi,
and was the finest of all those that were being formed in the early part
of the sixteenth century. There is a full notice of it by Michaelis in
the _Jahrbuch_, 1891, p. 218 f., who prints the inventory drawn up at
the time of the sale of the collection in 1584 to Cardinal Ferdinando
de’ Medici, by whom the antiques were removed to the Villa Medici,
whence many of them, including most probably the ‘Medici Venus,’ found
their way to Florence.

[Illustration:

FIG. 8.—Portion of a Plan of Rome, from Nolli, _Nuova Pianta di Roma_,
1748.

607, Palazzo Pamphili Doria.
610, Torre Millina.
615, S. Tommaso in Parione.
620, Piazza Pasquino.
625, Palazzo Massimi.
653, Via di Parione.
783, Piazza della Valle.
794, Palazzo Capranica.
795, Teatro della Valle.
806, Palazzo Medici, or, Madama.
808, S. Luigi dei Francesi.

The dotted portion marks the line of the recent Corso Vittorio
Emanuele. The site of the Sassi Palace, near S. Tommaso, is marked
by a cross.
]

The della Valle were a family of high importance, counting many branches
and numerous houses in that part of Rome, south-east of the Piazza
Navona, where church and piazza and palace and theatre still keep alive
their name. The most important member of the family was Cardinal Andrea
della Valle, one of Leo X’s creations of 1517. Vasari introduced him
into the fresco in the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence representing Leo X
with his Cardinals, that is given as a favourable specimen of Giorgio’s
painting on Plate I. His is the uppermost figure on the extreme right of
the picture. Referring to this fresco, Vasari describes him in his third
‘Ragionamento’ (_Opere_, VIII, 158) as ‘quel cardinale della Valle, che
fece in Roma quello antiquario, e che fu il primo che mettessi insieme
le cose antiche, e le faceva restaurare.’ About the last clause a word
will be said later on.

Lanciani (l.c., I, 123) draws attention to the vast estates, urban and
suburban, possessed by these wealthy proprietors, and the opportunities
thus afforded of obtaining antique treasures for the mere trouble of
digging for them. Nobles who had official charge of the streets and open
places could turn the opportunities of their position to account for the
same purpose, and in the first half of the century lovers of ancient art
did not buy antiques but simply dug for them. Cardinal Andrea, Lanciani
says, ‘era appassionato scavatore,’ and he made excavations in the
Thermae of Agrippa near which his palace lay, and in the vineyards of
the Lateran. Several writers of the early part of the century celebrate
this collection. One (Fichard, in _Frankfurtisches Archiv_, Frankfurt,
1815, III, 68) writes, in 1536, that the Cardinal’s house was the real
treasury of Roman antiquity, and he singles out for notice the same
porphyry wolf about which Vasari writes, ante, p. 28. There were so many
statues there, he says, that you would have thought everything ever
found in Rome had been brought together to that one place! The whole
collections of the family however were divided among three or four
palaces, but Andrea had the lion’s share. He built a new palace for his
treasures early in the century and displayed the best pieces in a court.
There were to be seen a Venus, that was probably the Medicean, and the
Florentine Ganymede, both now in the Uffizi, Nos. 548 and 115, and close
to these above a window the porphyry wolf of which we hear from Vasari.
The present location of this piece is not known, but Michaelis suggests
it might be looked for at the Villa Medici or at Florence. Vasari also
mentions ‘two prisoners bound,’ also of porphyry, as being in the garden
of the palace (ante, p. 29). These are mentioned in the inventory
referred to above (_Jahrbuch_, 229) as ‘two barbarians, draped, of
porphyry, 11 palms high.’ They were transported from the Villa Medici at
Rome to Florence in 1790, and are now very familiar to visitors in
Florence, for they stand just within the Boboli Gardens, one on each
side of the main walk that leads up towards the Amphitheatre. They are
about eight feet high, of porphyry, with heads and hands of white
marble. Two similar figures are to be seen in the Louvre, under the
staircase at the top of which is the Niké from Samothrace.

Della Valle was not content with his fine house and museum, but desired
another which he began to build about 1520. The work was directed by
Lorenzo Lotti (Lorenzetto) a pupil and assistant of Raphael, and Vasari
gives us an account of it in his life of the former artist (_Opere_, IV,
579). In connection with this we have from Vasari an interesting notice
of the beginning of the practice of ‘restoring’ antiques, which from
this period onwards was an established custom. When Lorenzetto, he tells
us, was building for the Cardinal Andrea della Valle the upper garden of
his palace, situated where is now the Teatro della Valle (see Fig. 8),
he arranged niches and other places for the Cardinal’s antiques. ‘These
were imperfect, some wanting a head and others arms, while others again
were legless, and all were in some way mutilated. Nevertheless the
artist managed everything excellently well, for he got good sculptors to
make again everything that was wanting, and this led to other lords
doing the same thing, and having many antique fragments restored. This
was done for example by Cardinals Cesis, Ferrara, and Farnese, and in a
word by all Rome. And in truth these antiques, restored in this fashion,
have a much more pleasing effect than those mutilated torsos, and limbs
without a head, and such-like fragments.’ On the restoration of the
Papal antiques see Note, postea, p. 116.

THE PORPHYRY TAZZA OF THE SALA ROTONDA OF THE VATICAN.

[See § 2, _Of Porphyry_, ante, p. 32.]

Ascanio Colonna, who was brother to the famous Vittoria Colonna the
friend of Michelangelo, was one of the chief representatives of the
imperial interests in Italy, in the stormy times of the first half of
the sixteenth century. Charles V made him in 1520 Grand Constable of
Naples. With Pope Paul III he had a bitter feud, and the Pope seized on
his possessions. On the election in 1550 of Julius III, the new Pope, in
order to please the Emperor, reinstated Ascanio, and it was on the
occasion of this reconciliation that Colonna presented to the Pope the
famous basin of porphyry of which Vasari writes. The ‘vineyard’ for
which the Pope destined it was connected with the casino and villa
outside the Porta del Popolo which bear the name of the Pope and where
is now installed the Villa Papa Giulio Museum. The tazza in question is
the superb bowl that occupies the centre of the Sala Rotonda in the
Vatican Museum. It is said to have been found temp. Julius II, in the
Thermae of Titus (Pistolesi, _Il Vaticano Descritto_, V, 206), and after
remaining for a time at the papal villa it was conveyed by Clement XI to
the Vatican and placed in the court of the Belvedere, now the Cortile
Ottagono. Francesco de’ Ficorini (_Le Vestigia e Rarità di Roma_, Roma,
1744, bk. II, ch. 2, p. 15) says that in this court was the ‘gran conca
di porfido,’ and another of white oriental granite, both found in the
Thermae of Titus. When Clement XIV (1769–75) added the octagonal
colonnade in the interior of the Cortile, the tazza was apparently no
longer needed there, for soon afterwards Pius VI, who with Clement was
the creator of the Museo Pio-Clementino, placed it in his newly
constructed Sala Rotonda, where it remains. Pasquale Massi in his
_Indicazione antiquaria del Ponteficio Museo Pio-Clementino_, 1792, p.
118, speaks of ‘una vastissima tazza di porfido di palmi 62 di
circonferenza tutta massiccia (all of one piece), la quale si trovava
già in Vaticano trasportatavi dalla Villa di Giulio III, fuori di Porta
del Popolo, ed ora squisitamente risarcita.’ This restoration was
completed in 1792 and was no doubt carried out by the same artists whom
Pius VI employed for the repair of the porphyry sarcophagi noticed ante,
p. 27. In this way the work, which Vasari says in the text had to be
left unfinished, was finally accomplished. Cancellieri (_Lettera ...
intorno la maravigliosa Tazza di Porfido_, etc., Roma, 1822) makes the
surprising statement that at one time the tazza had been mended with
pieces of white granite!

[Illustration:

FIG. 9.—Sketch of shape of the large porphyry Tazza in the Sala
Rotonda of the Vatican.
]

The tazza is the largest existing piece of the kind and measures 14 ft.
in diameter. It is shallow and has in the interior the usual projecting
central boss. Independently of this boss the tazza has only one arris,
or in Vasari’s words ‘canto vivo,’ at A in the rough sketch, Fig. 9. A
smaller but more artistically wrought porphyry tazza, beautifully
restored, and measuring 8 ft. 6 in. in diameter, is in the Pitti at
Florence close to the entrance to the passage to the Uffizi. It was a
gift from Clement VII to the Medici, and was brought from Rome (Villa
Medici) to Florence in 1790, where it was repaired in the Tuscan
manufactory of mosaics (Zobi, _Notizie Storiche sull’ Origine e
Progressi dei Lavori di Commesso in Pietre Dure_, Firenze, 1853, p.
118). Both these pieces are superb works, and display the magnificent
qualities of the red Egyptian porphyry to full advantage.

The original purpose of these great basins is not very clear. The
‘conche’ mentioned in the footnote to p. 27, ante, though now used as
sarcophagi, were certainly in their origin baths, but the shallow tazza
would be unsuitable for such a purpose, and moreover the central
ornament would have almost precluded such a use. There seems no sign of
a central opening through which a water pipe could have been introduced,
so that the tazza might serve as the basin of a fountain. Perhaps their
employment was simply ornamental.

FRANCESCO DEL TADDA, AND THE REVIVAL OF SCULPTURE IN PORPHYRY.

[See § 2, _Of Porphyry_, ante, p. 29.]

Vasari does not give a biography of this artist among his _Lives_,
though he more than once refers to him in connection with other
sculptors. There is on the other hand a notice of him and of other
artists of his family in Baldinucci’s _Notizie de’ Professori del
Disegno_, published 1681–1728. Baldinucci knew personally the son of
Francesco, but was so poorly informed about Francesco’s early life that
he makes two persons of him and describes his early career as if it were
that of another Francesco del Tadda. (It is true that there was an
earlier Francesco Ferrucci but he was not called ‘del Tadda’ and he died
before 1500). The commentators on Vasari previous to the Milanesi
edition seem to have been misled by Baldinucci, but in this edition the
mistake is corrected, and a genealogical tree of the whole Ferrucci
family is given in vol. IV, p. 487.

Francesco derived his name ‘del Tadda’ from his grandfather Taddeo
Ferrucci, who belonged to a family of sculptors in Fiesole. In early
life he worked with other sculptors under the orders of Clement VII at
the completion of the chapel of Our Lady of Loretto, and afterwards
assisted Michelangelo in his work in the Sacristy of S. Lorenzo at
Florence. In the Life of Giovanni Agnolo Montorsoli Vasari praises him
as ‘intagliatore excellente’ (_Opere_, VI, 638). The works in porphyry
mentioned in Vasari’s text, ante, p. 32 f., will be noticed presently,
but it may be noted here that del Tadda’s chief work in this material,
executed after Vasari published his _Lives_, was the figure of ‘Justice’
which stands on the granite column in the Piazza di S. Trinità at
Florence. The column, which is 36 ft. high, came from the Baths of
Caracalla at Rome and was presented by Pius IV to Duke Cosimo I.

Among the letters of Vasari published in the eighth volume of the
Milanesi edition is one dated December 18, 1561, to Duke Cosimo, giving
the measurements of this column which was then lying at Rome awaiting
its transport to Florence. The system of measurement is instructive and
has been referred to ante, p. 66 (see _Opere_, VIII, 352). The column
was taken to Florence, occupying a year on its journey, and was erected
in 1565 on the Piazza S. Trinità where it now stands. Cellini
(_Scultura_, ch. 6) says that it is of Elban granite, but it is more
likely to be from Egypt.

Francesco del Tadda received the commission for a porphyry figure to
surmount it, and the work is said to have taken him and his son eleven
years; it is in five or six pieces and about 11 ft. 6 in. high. The
statue was placed in position on June 9, 1581, and the drapery of bronze
was adjusted to it on July 21 (Francesco Settimanni quoted by Zobi, page
105). The figure has been adversely criticized but is a fairly
successful piece of work, considering the difficulties of its execution.
Francesco del Tadda died in 1585 and was buried in the church of S.
Girolamo at Fiesole, where his epitaph signalizes his unique position as
a worker in porphyry ‘cum statuariam in Porphyretico lapide mult. ann.
unicus exerceret,’ and bears his portrait by his own hand in relief in
porphyry on a field of green Prato serpentine.

On the whole subject of work in porphyry, after the early Byzantine
period when the late Roman imperial tradition was still in force, the
following may be noted.

Vasari does not say that the art of working the stone was ever wholly
lost, and mentions, ante, p. 29, the cutting of the stone for use in
inlaid pavements, Cosmati-work, and the like, as may be seen in St.
Mark’s, Venice; at Ravello, and in numberless Roman churches. He also
describes the ‘scabbling’ of the stone by heavy hammers with steel
points to reduce it to even surfaces both rounded and flat (ante, p.
31). Fine examples of the use of the material in mediaeval days, for
purposes other than statuesque, can be seen in the Cathedral of Palermo.
There are there four noble sarcophagi, with canopies supported by
monolithic shafts all in the same stone, dating from the thirteenth
century. They contain the bodies of the Emperor Frederick II, who died
in 1250, and of earlier members of his house, and show that at that time
the artificers of southern Italy and Sicily could deal successfully on a
large scale with this intractable material. Anton Springer, _die
Mittelalterliche Kunst in Palermo_, Bonn, 1869, remarks in this
connection, p. 29, that the Sicilians are to this day specially expert
in the working of hard stones. Porphyry was also used on the original
façade of S. Maria del Fiore at Florence that was demolished in 1588.
Vasari might too have mentioned the porphyry sarcophagus completed in
1472 by Andrea del Verrocchio for the monument of Piero and Giovanni de’
Medici in S. Lorenzo at Florence. The Verrocchio sarcophagus is however
composed only of flat slabs of porphyry, like those round the pulpit in
St. Mark’s, Venice, whereas Vasari is drawing a distinction between this
architectural use of the stone and its employment in figure sculpture,
of which he makes Francesco del Tadda the first restorer.

In regard to this use of porphyry it must not be forgotten that in the
Cabinet of Gems in the Uffizi there is a beautifully executed porphyry
statuette, or rather group, of Venus with Cupid, about ten inches high,
signed in Greek characters with the name of ‘Pietro Maria.’ This was
Pier Maria da Pescia, noticed by Vasari in his life of Valerio Vicentino
and others, as a famous worker in hard stones of the days of Leo X
(_Opere_, V, 370). This however was executed, so Zobi says (p. 97), with
the wheel after the manner of gem engraving, whereas the works of
Ferrucci, of later date, were on the scale of statuary proper.

In connection with the latter we have Vasari’s story of the invention of
Duke Cosimo. This is explained by Galluzzi, (_Istoria del Granducato di
Toscana_, Firenze, 1781, I, 157 f.) who says that Cosimo’s efforts to
exploit the mineral wealth of Tuscany (see postea, p. 120 f.) gave him
an interest in metals, and that he set up a laboratory in his palace,
where he carried on experiments in chemistry and physics. Hence the
discovery of which Vasari writes. Cosimo certainly in his own time had
some personal association with this cutting of porphyry, for Galluzzi
says he used to make presents to his friends of porphyry reliefs
executed with tools tempered by the new process, and quotes (II, 229) a
letter of thanks from a Cardinal to whom a gift of the kind had been
forwarded. On the other hand Cellini, (_Scultura_, ch. 6) makes Tadda
the inventor and ignores Cosimo altogether, while Baldinucci, though,
like Vasari, he was devoted to the Medici, scouts the idea of Cosimo
having had any personal share in the invention of the new tempering
bath, which he ascribes to Tadda alone, and he adduces in support of
this Tadda’s own testament, in which are the words _Franciscus de
Fesulis sculptor porfidi, et ipse inventor, seu renovator talis
sculpturae, et artis porfidorum incidendi_. Cosimo’s participation in
the discovery, whatever it was, can hardly have been ascribed to him
without some small foundation in fact, and Aurelio Gotti, _Le Gallerie e
I Musei di Firenze_, 2nd Ed., Firenze, 1875, p. 45, gives credit for it
to the Duke.

However this may be, Tadda appears to have used the new process for the
first time in the production of the tazza for the fountain in the
cortile of the Palazzo Vecchio, and to have advanced from this to the
more artistic work Vasari goes on to describe. Endeavours to discover
the present habitat of the oval portraits of the Medici and the Head of
Christ, referred to by Vasari, ante, p. 33, have led to the following
result. Signor Supino, the Director of the National Museum at Florence,
courteously informed us that the portraits of Cosimo _Pater Patriae_, of
Leo X, and of Clement VII, with one of Giovanni de’ Bicci, were
preserved in the magazines of the Bargello, where he has kindly allowed
one of us to photograph them. The head of Cosimo has on the chamfer of
the bust the inscription OPA DI FRANC^O DA FIESOLE, which identifies it
with certainty as the work of Tadda of which Vasari writes. The others
are treated in the same fashion, and all are mounted on flat oval slabs
of green serpentine of Prato. They are no doubt all by the same hand.
They were formerly in the Uffizi but have been for many years in the
Bargello, and their historical and artistic interest would certainly
vindicate for them more honourable treatment than at present is their
lot. Plates III and V give the Cosimo _Pater Patriae_ portrait and that
of Leo X. They measure about 19 in. by 14 in.

With regard to the other examples noticed by Vasari, Zobi, l.c., p. 108,
informed his readers that the two ovals of Duke Cosimo I and his wife
the Duchess Leonora were at that time (about 1850) in the Pitti ‘on the
wall of the vestibule in the part called Meridiana,’ but he complicates
matters by announcing the same about the head of the older Cosimo, which
we have just found at the Bargello, and which Gotti says, l.c., p. 46,
was originally in the Villa of Poggio Imperiale whence it was conveyed
in 1862 to the Uffizi. Zobi’s words are subjoined in the original. ‘Ed i
ritratti in profilo del duca Cosimo I, d’ Eleonora di Toledo sua moglie,
e di Cosimo appellato il _padre della patria_, scolpiti a mezzo rilievo
e rapportati sul fondo di serpentino, si trovano oggidì situati insieme
con altri ritratti parimente porfiretici, sulle pareti del vestibolo al
quartiere detto della _Meridiana_ nel palazzo regale.’

The part of the Pitti referred to is on the second floor of the palace
and receives its name from a meridian line in brass marked on the floor
on which, at the psychological moment, the sun shines through a hole in
the roof. Here, through the courtesy of Signor Cornish the Conservator
of the Royal Palace, we have seen no fewer than seven oval portraits in
porphyry mounted on serpentine that are built into the wall in
situations which make their study rather difficult. Among them the
marked features of Duke Cosimo are not apparent, but on one of them is
the inscription, ‘Ferdinandus Magnus Dux Etr. 1609,’ and on another the
name and date of Christina, Duchess of Tuscany, 1669. This all bears out
what Baldinucci tells us, that the Ferrucci family in general put their
hands to this particular class of work, which was their speciality, just
as the glazed terra-cottas were specialities of the della Robbia, while
they also adopted into the circle pupils from outside. Zobi, p. 109,
quotes an old inventory of 1574, the date of the death of Duke Cosimo I,
which mentions ten such portraits of members of the family as at that
time existing, all mounted on serpentine. Later on, Baldinucci mentions
three sons of Francesco, to one of whom, Romolo, he is supposed to have
left his ‘secret.’ There was however also an Andrea Ferrucci, and a
Mattias Ferrucci, who if they lacked the pretended ‘secret’ at any rate
did the same work, and finally one Raffaello Curradi, a pupil of Andrea,
who in 1636 abandoned sculpture and took the Franciscan habit. According
to Zobi, p. 116, he was the last of the porphyry sculptors, and ‘dopo
quest’ epoca affatto s’ ignora se furono prodotte altre opere porfiree.’
In view of the date 1669 on one of the ovals in the Pitti, this should
not perhaps be taken too absolutely. That porphyry has been worked
successfully at Florence at later dates, the admirable restoration of
the porphyry tazza in the Pitti, mentioned ante, p. 109, and other more
recent productions noted by Zobi, sufficiently show.

[Illustration:

PLATE V

PORTRAIT IN PORPHYRY OF LEO X
BY FRANCESCO DEL TADDA
]

If we add to the series of ovals the various porphyry busts of members
of the Medici house, exhibited in the outer vestibule of the Uffizi and
other places, there would be enough porphyry versions of the Medici to
furnish material for a monograph.

With regard finally to the ‘Head of Christ’ which Vasari says was taken
to Rome and much admired by Michelangelo, the original seems to be lost,
but Zobi states, p. 95, that in his time a scion of the Ferrucci family,
living at Lugo in the Province of Ravenna, possessed a head of Christ in
porphyry signed MATHIAS FERRUCCEUS CIVIS FLORENTINUS FECIT, and he
thinks this may have been copied from the original by Francesco del
Tadda, of which there is question in Vasari’s text.

THE CORTILE OF THE BELVEDERE IN THE VATICAN, IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

[See § 4, _Of Cipollaccio_, ante, p. 36.]

The history of this famous Cortile forms the subject of an elaborate
paper by Professor Adolf Michaelis in the _Jahrbuch_ of the German
Archaeological Institute for 1890. It has been described as ‘the most
noteworthy place of art in all Italy or rather in the world,’ as it was
the first home of the nascent collection of antique statues formed by
successive Popes from the beginning of the sixteenth century, that has
grown into the Vatican museum of sculpture. It must be remembered that
the octagonal portico which now surrounds the Cortile is a later
addition of the last part of the eighteenth century, and when Vasari
knew it, about 1530, in the pontificate of Clement VII, it was laid out
as a garden of orange trees, with niches by Bramante in the four corners
and in the middle of the sides. In these niches and on pedestals in the
court were displayed notable antiques, such as the ‘Laocoon,’ the ‘Nile’
now in the Braccio Nuovo, the ‘Tiber’ now in the Louvre, the ‘Torso,’
the ‘Cleopatra,’ two Venuses, the ‘Apollo Belvedere,’ and others. This
was a favourite resort of Clement, who used to walk here in the mornings
reading his breviary, and listened in the evenings to music made for him
by Benvenuto Cellini and others (Cellini, _Autobiography_, transl.,
Lond., 1878, p. 42). Here too he consulted with Michelangelo in 1532 on
the question of the restoration of the antiques, and Michelangelo
recommended to him for the purpose the youthful sculptor Fra Giovann’
Agnolo Montorsoli, whom the Pope installed in the Belvedere to carry out
the work (see ante, p. 107). Among the features of the court were
fountains in some of the niches, on which were statues. The ‘Cleopatra’
of the Vatican was one of these, and Clement seems to have desired to
make a second fountain corresponding to that of the Cleopatra, to be
adorned by the river god Tigris. The ‘Tigris,’ which is now in the Sala
a Croce Greca, is said to have been restored by the august hands of
Michelangelo himself, and it was for the installation of the ‘Tigris’
that Buonarotti designed the fountain of which Vasari writes. Vasari’s
account, which had escaped the notice of Michaelis, is our only
authority for this work by Michelangelo, which is not, so far as the
present writers can discover, mentioned in any of the numerous ‘Lives’
of the artist. There is a drawing of the fountain by Heemskerck,
reproduced by Michaelis, but this only gives the figure, and not the
decorative treatment of the niche, which is the point of interest as a
_parergon_ by Michelangelo. The situation of the ‘Tigris’ fountain was
in the corner where is now the Cabinet of the Laocoon. (Michaelis l.c.,
and Plans and Drawings of the Vatican in the King’s Library at
Bloomsbury. Of older writers Bonanni, _Numismata Summorum Pontificum
Templi Vaticani Fabricam Indicantia_, Roma, 1696, is praised by Lanciani
as the most useful and trustworthy).

PARAGON (TOUCHSTONE) AND OTHER STONES ASSOCIATED WITH IT BY VASARI.

[See § 7, _Of Paragon_, ante, p. 42.]

There are at least six different kinds of stone referred to in this
section, and for convenience they are lettered in the text (a) (b) etc.

(a) There is a stone specially suited for the process of testing the
precious metals in the way Vasari describes. It is called in various
tongues ‘touchstone,’ ‘pierre de touche,’ ‘Probirstein,’ ‘pietra di
paragone,’ ‘basanite’ from Greek βάσανος, a test, and in Latin ‘Lapis
Lydius’ from the reason that it was found in Lydia. According to
Theophrastus, Περὶ Λίθων, § 35, and Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XXXIII, 8, it
was only found in small nodules, and this agrees with the character of
the stone. It is described by Professor Bonney as a ‘silicified
argillite,’ that is to say a clayey sedimentary stone largely
impregnated with silica, and, as used by the modern jeweller and
goldsmith, it is in appearance and texture an extremely hard stone of
very fine grain and of a velvet blackness, the colour being due to the
presence of carbonaceous elements. Small lumps of fine texture are found
embedded in a coarser matrix. It has no mystic power of testing metals.
The piece of metal to be essayed is simply rubbed on the stone and the
mark scrutinized, or compared as regards colour with marks from similar
rubbings of metal pins of known composition. A piece of the stone,
showing some marks of the kind, is given as I on the Frontispiece. For
the above purpose any hard, fine-grained, compact stone of a dark colour
will serve, and black jasper Wedgewood-ware answers the demand as well
as a natural stone. The small portion of the metal rubbed off as above
may however be tested more searchingly by the application of acid, and
for this to be practicable the stone must not be a limestone, which
would be at once attacked by the acid and confuse the test.

(b) The ‘other variety with a different grain and colour,’ of which
Egyptian sphinxes were made, must be basalt (or diorite) in which
material the statue which Vasari calls the ‘hermaphrodite in Parione’ is
actually cut. A fine-grained basalt would serve well enough as a
touchstone, though it is not the true material.

(c) There appears to be a kind of granitic stone, which Mr Brindley
calls ‘an augite variety of green granite found alongside the Prato
serpentine’ (for which see below) found near Prato (Repetti, art. ‘Monte
Ferrato,’ writes of a ‘granito di Prato’ or ‘granitone di Figline’), but
the stone that Vasari goes on to describe (d) as used for sarcophagi, is
of another composition altogether. This is a black or grey limestone
that used to be abundantly employed as the setting for Florentine
mosaics, and is still used for such purposes as inlaid letters, etc., in
white marble. P, as above, shows a piece cut for such use. It is however
liable to white or light-grey veins, and is now supplanted at the
Florentine mosaic manufactory by a black marble or limestone imported
from Belgium. The sarcophagus of Piero Soderini, behind the high altar
in the church of the Carmine at Florence is in a grey limestone much
traversed by lighter veins. Such a stone could not be suitably used as a
touchstone, as in the first place it is not hard enough, and, in the
second, would not admit of the use of the acid test. The name ‘paragone’
is however very commonly applied to it. The ‘canopy of Prato touchstone’
is mentioned by other writers beside Vasari, but is no more to be seen
and may have perished in the Carmine fire.

(e) Here again we have a quite different stone, though one very well
known and in common use. The dark stone which occurs in bands on Tuscan
buildings in Florence and elsewhere is known as ‘Verde di Prato’ and is
a species of (true) serpentine, very dark in hue and often seeming
purplish or puce-coloured rather than green. It would be too soft to
make a good touchstone, and is disposed to disintegrate when exposed to
severe climatic conditions. Thus on the façade of S. Miniato a Monte on
the hill facing the north it is far more weathered than on the Duomo or
Campanile below. For the quarries of it and its use see the Note,
postea, p. 127. E, as above, shows a characteristic piece kindly lent
from his collection by Professor Bonney.

(f) Lastly there is the red marble used in bands on the Campanile and
Duomo. For this also see the Note p. 128.

TUSCAN MARBLE QUARRIES.

[See §§ 5, 9, 97, 99, etc.]

The best work on the subject of Italian stones is that by Jervis, _I
Tesori Sotterranei dell’ Italia_, Torino, 1889, and a considerable
amount of information is contained in the local articles in E. Repetti’s
_Dizionario geographico, etc., della Toscana_, Firenze, 1839, and also
in the Official Catalogue of the Italian section in the London
International Exhibition of 1862. In connection with investigations
which we have had to make on all this subject of the stones, we have to
acknowledge with all gratitude the expert aid kindly afforded by
Professors Bonney of Cambridge and Geikie of Edinburgh, as well as the
valuable local assistance and information kindly given to us by
Professor Enrico Bonanni of Carrara and the representatives of the firm
Henraux et Cie of Seravezza, the owners of the Monte Altissimo quarries
presently to be mentioned. From both these sources we have obtained
knowledge which we could not otherwise have compassed, and we desire
again to express our obligations to Mr W. Brindley, who is as well known
in the Carrara district as in London, and who gave us these
introductions as well as much technical information.

The quarries mentioned by Vasari are named in the accompanying table,
where there are also indications of the kinds of stone he signalizes as
their products. It must of course be understood that extensive quarries
generally produce more than one kind of stone, as Vasari notes in the
case of the Carrara quarries in § 9, and again in ‘Painting’ § 97, where
he speaks of variegated marbles alternating with the white.

The principal deposits of marble are those in the Carrara district, in
the mountains called the Apuan Alps near the sea coast between Pisa and
Spezia. The marbles of the district have been exploited since the time
of the Romans, under the name of marbles of Luna or Luni. The site of
the Etrusco-Roman town of Luni is a little south of the railway line,
about half way between Avenza-Carrara and Sarzana, and traces of the
Roman workings are observable in many of the present quarries. The
industry received a notable impulse at the great artistic epoch of the
Renaissance. Duke Cosimo de’ Medici gave considerable attention to the
exploitation of this form of mineral wealth, as was also the case with
the metal-producing mines (ante, p. 112). He opened new quarries in the
Pietrasanta district of the Apuan Alps, and also gave special attention
to the quarries in the Pisan Mountains, between Pisa and Lucca, and to
facilitating the transport of the material from the hills to the former
town.

The special quarries of which the town of Carrara is the centre and
dépôt are the oldest and the most prolific, and a useful local guide to
Carrara gives a long list of the effective ones in their different
groups, with their respective products. Of these, that which has
furnished the finest statuary marble in the largest blocks is the quarry
of Polvaccio, in the Ravaccione valley under Monte Sagro, one of the
culminating points of the ridge of the Apuan Alps. See the sketch map,
Fig. 10. Vasari (ante, p. 46) specially praises the Polvaccio marbles,
as being free from the veins and flaws so tiresome to the sculptor.
There are now other localities in the district that furnish as good
pieces as Polvaccio.

There is another important centre a little to the south-east, that is of
more interest in the present connection. This is Pietrasanta, which is
the emporium for the quarries of Seravezza several times mentioned by
Vasari, and those of Stazzema, a little further up among the hills.

The Seravezza district is quite apart from that of Carrara, and the
little town in question nestles in the folds of the ridges that descend
from Monte Altissimo, the culminating point next to the south from Monte
Sagro, both peaks being between 5 and 6,000 feet high. Both districts
are rich in memories of Michelangelo. About his work at Carrara there is
more than one published treatise, as for example Carlo Frediani’s
_Ragionamento Storico_, 2nd Ed., Siena, 1875, while in connection with
his proceedings at Seravezza, and especially the identification of
localities mentioned in his correspondence and memoranda, MM. Henraux
have furnished us with some first-hand information. Both at Carrara and
at Pietrasanta inscriptions indicate houses where he lodged on his
visits to the localities. Carrara was his first love, and when charged
by Leo X in 1516 with the work at S. Lorenzo at Florence he betook
himself thither for marbles. Vasari, in his Life of Michelangelo,
_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, VII, 189, tells us how while he was there he
received a letter from the Pope bidding him turn his attention rather to
the Seravezza district, which was actually in Tuscan territory, whereas
Carrara was in the principality of Massa-Carrara, and at the time under
the rule of the Marchese Alberigo, who was Michelangelo’s friend.

[Illustration:

FIG. 10.—Sketch map of the marble-producing districts of the Apuan
Alps.
]

Repetti has published documents of the year 1515, which show that at
that date the Commune of Seravezza resolved to make a donation to the
Florentine people of the right to quarry in the cliffs of Monte
Altissimo, in which it is said, ‘there are supposed to be mines and
quarries of marble’ (_in quibus dicitur esse cava et mineria pro
marmoribus cavendis_), and also of the ground necessary for making a
road for transport. This was the cause of the Pope’s orders to
Michelangelo, which Vasari says he obeyed with great reluctance. In the
invaluable ‘Contratti’ and ‘Ricordi,’ which G. Milanesi has printed in
his volume of Michelangelo’s _Lettere_ (Firenze, 1875), we find
Buonarroti in 1516–7 at Carrara, getting material from the Polvaccio
quarry, but at the beginning of 1518 he notes (_Lettere_, p. 566)
‘_Andai a cavare a Pietra Santa e fecivi l’avviamento_ (the start) _che
oggi si vede fatto_,’ and from this time his chief work was beneath the
wild cliffs of Monte Altissimo (ibid., p. 573 f.). A memorandum of a
later date (_Lettere_, p. 580) thus worded, ‘_a dì circa venticinque di
febraio nel mille cinquecento diciassette_ (our 1518) _... non mi
possendo servire a Carrara di detti marmi, mi missi a fare cavare nelle
montagnie di Seraveza, villa di Pietra Santa, dove inanzi non era mai
più stato cavato_,’ shows that this was pioneer work. The contract made
at Pietrasanta on March 15, 1518, for the work of quarrying (_Lettere_,
p. 673) indicates that the locality was the gorge of the Serra, which
runs up northward from Seravezza to the heart of the mountains. Two
localities are mentioned, one, ‘Finochiaia sive Transvaserra,’ and
another opposite to this, ‘dirimpetto et riscontro,’ called ‘alla
Cappella.’ The first place is now called ‘Trambiserra,’ and will be seen
on the sketch map on the west of the gorge with ‘la Cappella’ over
against it on the east. Another contract of April 14 in the same year
mentions quarrying projected ‘a l’ Altissimo’ in a locality called ‘a la
Piastra di verso Strettoia sive Antognia.’ There is a Strettoia on the
lower hills west of Seravezza, but that the operations in question were
really higher up the gorge among the very cliffs of Monte Altissimo is
proved by a letter of later date from Vincenzio Danti to Duke Francesco
de’ Medici (July 2, 1568; Gaye, _Carteggio_, III, 254), who reports that
he examined the old workings and road of Michelangelo ‘al Altissimo,’
and mentions various localities, ‘la Polla,’ ‘Costa dei Cani,’ etc., the
sites of which are at the head of the valley as shown on the map. ‘La
Polla’ means the water-head. Moreover, in a letter from Seravezza dated
August, 1518, _Lettere_, p. 394, Michelangelo speaks of the road for the
transport of the marbles as being nearly finished, though in three
places rocks had still to be cut away. The places are ‘a Rimagno,’ ‘poco
passato Rimagno per andare a Seraveza,’ and ‘a l’ ultime case di
Seravezza, andando verso la Corvara.’ The places are marked on the
sketch map. Marbles from any part of the upper gorge of the Serra would
have to be brought past Rimagno on their way down, and we therefore see
that Michelangelo exploited to some extent the actual marbles of the
Altissimo, which for the last half century have furnished the very
finest and most costly statuary marble of the whole Apuan Alps, Mr
Brindley says, of the whole world. The existing quarries are under the
serrated peaks of Monte Altissimo, at an elevation of some 3 to 4,000
feet, and the marbles are now brought down in trolleys sliding along a
rope stretched across the valley and mounting to the highest levels. It
is believed locally that the workings called ‘Vincarella’ are some of
the first opened by Michelangelo, and from somewhere at any rate among
these cliffs, in the latter part of 1518, by the agency of some skilled
workmen who had been sent from Settignano as well as local hands, and by
means of ropes and windlasses and sledges, Michelangelo was letting down
a column, which however fell and was broken.

A letter from Seravezza of April 20, 1519, _Lettere_, p. 403, gives
details of the accident, which was due to the fracture of a defective
ring of iron, and he says, ‘Siàno stati a un grandissimo pericolo della
vita tutti che eravamo attorno: e èssi guasto una mirabil pietra.’ No
wonder he records in a memorandum that he subsequently left Pietrasanta
ill, and that he exclaims in a postscript to a letter of April 1518,
_Lettere_, p. 138, ‘Oh, cursed a thousand times be the day and the hour
when I quitted Carrara!’

The Monte Altissimo quarries are situated in a scene that to us to-day
is sufficiently wild, though the modern lover of the mountains finds it
full of an austere beauty. To Michelangelo, who was fretting at his
enforced loss of time and in no mood to surrender himself to the
influences of nature, it was a savage and inhospitable country. He
writes from Seravezza to Florence in August 1518, (_Lettere_, p. 394),
‘The place where we have to quarry here is very rugged (_molto aspro_),
and the men are very unskilled in such work: nevertheless we must have
much patience for several months till the mountains are tamed and the
men are instructed. Afterwards we shall go on more quickly: it is enough
that what I have promised, that will I at all costs perform, and I will
do the finest work that has ever yet been accomplished in Italy, if God
be my aid!’ As a fact it was 1521 before the first column for the façade
of S. Lorenzo arrived in Florence, the rest, as Vasari says, (ante, p.
47 and _Opere_, VII, p. 190) remained in the quarries or by the
seashore, and the ‘finest work’ was never even begun. MM. Henraux state
that they know of no traces of the columns said to have been left thus
‘on the sea shore’ (by Forte dei Marmi) but they possess a piece of a
fractured column found near the site of Michelangelo’s supposed workings
at ‘la Polla.’

At the death of Pope Leo nothing had been accomplished but the
foundations of the façade, and the transport of a great column from
Seravezza to the Piazza di S. Lorenzo! For nearly thirty years after
this time the quarries of this district were almost deserted, and the
roads which Michelangelo had begun were not completed.

At a later period however Duke Cosimo I paid special attention to the
quarries of the Seravezza region, and had a casino or summer residence
built here for himself by Ammanati, now termed ‘Il Palazzo,’ and the
residence of the Mayor. A commissioner was established at Pietrasanta as
the metropolis of the district, to supervise the workings. In the
‘Introduction’ to Painting at Chapter XVI, § 99, postea, p. 261, Vasari
gives us an interesting notice of the opening of some new quarries in
1563 near the village of Stazzema, which lies behind the mountains which
overhang Pietrasanta, and is approached from Seravezza up the Versiglia,
or the gorge of the river Vezza. The road, of which he speaks in this
place (p. 261) as in course of making, he mentions in some of his
letters of 1564, and also in the Life of Michelangelo, but he gives no
indication of its course. It was probably the road from Seravezza across
the marsh-land to the sea, a more troublesome affair than roads along
mountain valleys.

As regards the products of all these quarries of the Apuan Alps,
statuary marble occurs as we have seen in many places, and it is found,
where it occurs, in compact masses or nodules embedded in and flanked by
marbles impure in colour and streaked and variegated in divers fashions.
A vast amount of the marble quarried in the hills is what the quarrymen
call ‘Ordinario,’ and is of a grey hue and often streaked with veins,
which when well marked give it a new value as ‘fiorito,’ or ‘flowered.’
Of a more decided grey is the prized marble called ‘Bardiglio,’ which is
the kind furnished by the ‘alla Cappella’ quarries. Bardiglio again may
be ‘fiorito.’ These correspond to the ‘three sorts of marble that come
from the mountains of Carrara’ of which Vasari writes in § 97, postea,
p. 259, ‘one of which is of a pure and dazzling white, the other not
white but of a livid hue, while the third is a grey marble (_marmo
bigio_) of a silvery tint.’ The white and the grey are shown in the
coloured drawing at J and K.

More decidedly variegated are the marbles known as ‘Mischi’ or
‘Breccias,’ and of these the Stazzema quarries yield the chief supply.
The ‘Mischio di Seravezza’ of which Vasari writes in a letter, Gaye,
III, 164, was from this locality, and so too the ‘Mischi’ mentioned in
§§ 5, 9, ante, pp. 37, 45, of which some are ‘Mischiati di rosso.’ C and
D as above show characteristic specimens of Breccias of Stazzema.
Repetti, art. ‘Stazzema,’ says that the ‘Bardigli fioriti’ and Breccias
of Stazzema are generally known as ‘Mischi da Seravezza.’

It should be mentioned that Massa, between Carrara and Pietrasanta, is
also a quarry centre of importance.

Leaving the Apuan Alps, the next marble-producing locality we come to on
descending the coast is that of the Monti Pisani, the range of hills
separating the territories of Pisa and Lucca. Monte S. Giuliano is on
the road between the two cities, and there are quarries near Bagni S.
Giuliano about six kilometres from Pisa. It will be seen that Vasari
(ante, p. 50) speaks favourably of this marble, and Mr W. Brindley
thinks this notice in Vasari is of special interest, as he reports of
this marble that ‘for durability and delicate honey-tint it is superior
to Carrara.’ The local term ‘ceroide’ ‘wax-like’ used for this stone
conveys the same idea. It was used at Lucca as well as on Pisan
buildings. From the same quarries come red and veined marbles and
Breccias and ‘Mischi’ (Torelli, _Statistica della Provincia di Pisa_,
Pisa, 1863).

The exploitation of these marbles was rendered difficult at Pisa by the
marshy nature of the ground at the foot of the hills which impeded
transport, and Duke Cosimo set himself to find a remedy. He took up the
question of drainage and regulation of watercourses in what is called
the ‘pianura di Pisa,’ and among the forty medals struck to celebrate
his various achievements were some for ‘Clima Pisano Risanato.’ In 1545
an ‘Uffizio dei fossi’ was constituted, and the modern hydraulic system
which has done so much to benefit this region, dates from these measures
of Cosimo. Vasari, § 11, ante, p. 50, speaks of a river ‘Osoli’ the
course of which was straightened and confined. This is probably a
mistake for ‘Oseri’ or ‘Osari,’ names applying to one of the small
streams close to Pisa in the direction of the quarries. Targioni
Tozzetti in his _Viaggi in Toscana_ has a long discussion on this river,
the Auser of the ancients, for which he gives the modern equivalents
‘Oseri,’ or ‘Osoli’ (the latter probably derived from this passage in
Vasari). There is a ‘Fossa dell’ Oseretto’ to the west of the city.
These straightened watercourses facilitated the transport of the stone
in barges.

Continuing southwards along the coast we come to some marble quarries
mentioned by Vasari on the promontory of Piombino, opposite the island
of Elba. The locality Vasari names is Campiglia (§ 10, ante, p. 50) but
the whole of Monte Calvi above that town is marble-bearing, and the
products were said to be as good in quality as those of the Carrara
district (Torelli, l.c., p. xc). Vasari says that the Campiglia marbles
are excellent for building purposes, and Repetti asserts that in the
fifteenth century, for the cupola of S. Maria del Fiore, more marble was
used from this region than from Carrara itself. The ancient reputation
of the district is not however now maintained.

Hitherto all the marbles used for building purposes that Vasari has
mentioned have been white or variegated, but everyone who has visited
the Tuscan cities knows that the decorative effect of the buildings
depends on the juxtaposition of bands of white and of black, or at any
rate, dark marble, with occasional bands of red. The dark marbles come
chiefly from the neighbourhood of Prato, and this introduces us to a
group of inland quarries within a few miles of Florence to the north and
also to the south and east. Vasari does not say much about this dark
stone, which was however of the utmost importance in Tuscan
architecture. It is commonly called Prato Serpentine, or ‘Verde di
Prato,’ and the quarries at Monte Ferrato, by Figline, three miles north
of Prato, produce it of the finest quality. The Figline quarries are
reported on by Professor Bonney in a paper on ‘Ligurian and Tuscan
Serpentines’ in the _Geological Magazine_ for 1879. He has kindly lent
us the specimen from the quarry figured as E on the Frontispiece. This
stone is of a deep green colour, tending sometimes towards a purple or
puce tint. Stone of much the same character is found, as Vasari states,
near the Impruneta, six or seven miles east of Florence. It is this
Prato Serpentine that has been so largely used from the twelfth century
to the fifteenth in Tuscany for alternating with the white marbles in
the incrustation of façades. There are deposits of the same stone in the
Pisan mountains. The same stone was sometimes used for decorative stone
work in connection with sepulchral monuments. According to Vasari
however, ante, p. 42 f., it was the ‘paragone’ or dark limestone of
Prato that was chiefly employed for this purpose.

If Vasari’s information about this important stone, and his interest in
it, seem scanty, it must be borne in mind that it was a mediaeval
material rather than a Renaissance one. We find it on the churches and
bell towers and baptistries of the twelfth and following centuries, but
not on the palaces of the fifteenth and sixteenth. Hence the stone was
not so interesting in Vasari’s eyes as it is in ours.

Finally, the red stone seen in bands on the Duomo and the Campanile at
Florence, that Vasari calls ‘marmo rosso’ (ante, p. 43), is not fully
crystalline and is rather a limestone than a marble. It is deep red when
quarried, but on the buildings has bleached to a pinky hue from exposure
to the air. It is apt to scale, but this is partly due to its not being
laid on its proper bed. The specimens F F on the coloured plate show the
smoothed external surface bleached light by exposure. We are informed by
Signor Cellerini, the experienced _capomaestro_ of the Opera del Duomo
at Florence, that in old time this stone was quarried at Monsummano, at
the northern extremity of the Monte Albano not far from Pistoja. A more
modern source of supply is the Tuscan Maremma, where the stone, called
‘Porta Santa,’ is quarried between Pisa and Grosseto, near Gavorrano.
From this place the stone has been brought for recent use on the new
façade of the Duomo at Florence.

Other Tuscan marbles, such as those of Siena, that are not referred to
by Vasari, are not noticed in this place.

THE ROUND TEMPLE ON THE PIAZZA S. LUIGI DEI FRANCESI, AND ‘MAESTRO
GIAN.’

[See § 12, _Of Travertine_, ante, p. 51 f.]

It is surprising that practically nothing appears to be known, either
about the French sculptor mentioned here, ‘Maestro Gian’ (or Jean), or
about the French wood carver of the same name called by Vasari ‘Maestro
Janni,’ who is referred to at the close of the ‘Introduction’ to
Sculpture, postea, p. 174. Equally strange is it that their works, which
Vasari describes in terms of high praise, and which are in public view
in Rome and in Florence, do not seem to have attracted attention among
students either of French art or of Italian. The standard older book on
French artists abroad, Dussieux, _Les Artistes Français à l’Étranger_,
Paris, 1856, takes no note of either of them, nor are they referred to
in Bérard’s _Dictionnaire Biographique des Artistes Français du XII au
XVII Siècle_, Paris, 1872. In the more recent Italian work however by A.
Bertolotti, _Artisti Francesi in Roma nei Secoli XV, XVI, e XVII_,
Mantova, 1886, there is a mention on p. 220 of ‘un Giovanni Chavenier,
che forse disegno quel tempio tondo, attribuito dal Vasari all’
architetto Jean,’ and on p. 24 it is said that ‘Giovanni Chiavier, o
Chavenier, di Rouen lavorò pel Governo pontificio e morì a Roma nel
1527.’ Bertolotti unfortunately gives no references to his authorities,
while the work of Müntz, _Les Arts à la Cour des Papes_ breaks off
before the sixteenth century, and gives no help.

LIST OF TUSCAN MARBLE QUARRIES WITH THEIR PRODUCTS, AS FAR AS THESE ARE
MENTIONED BY VASARI.

[§§. 5–11 and §§ 97–99.]

The reference to pages is to the present volume, the capital letters
refer to the coloured drawing of the stones on the Frontispiece.
Names in square brackets do not actually occur in Vasari.

DISTRICT. CHIEF PLACE. QUARRIES. PRODUCTS.

[Apuan Alps] Carrara Carrara in Breccias (p. 37 f.)
general (C.D.)

Monti di Luni [Bardigli] (p. 45)
(K.)

Garfagnana Paragone (p. 42)
(P.)

White Statuary (p. 45)

Black „

‘Saligni’ „

‘Campanini’ „

Mischiati „

Cippollino (pp. 36,
49) (H.)

Best Statuary
„ Polvaccio Marble in (p. 46)
largest blocks

„ Pietrasanta [Monte Columns for S. (p. 46)
Altissimo, Lorenzo

Alla ‘Campanini,’
Seravezza Cappella, ‘Saligni,’ (p. 50)
etc.] coarse marbles

Statuary Marble (p. 261)
Stazzema (not now (C.D.)
obtained)

Mischi (Breccias)

Fine White
[Monti Pisani] Pisa Monte S. Marble, used on (p. 50)
Giuliano Duomo &
Campo-Santo

[Tuscan Gavorrano [Caldana di [Red Limestone]
Maremma] Ravi]

[Promontory Coarse Marbles,
opposite [Piombino] Campiglia suited for (p. 50)
Elba] building

Red Marble (p. 43)
[Monte Albano] [Pistoja] [Monsummano] (limestone) on (F.)
Duomo, Florence

Neighbourhood [Monte Marmo Nero [Verde (p. 43)
of Florence, Prato Ferrato, di Prato] on (E.)
Figline] Duomo, Florence

North „ „ „ „

3 m. N. of Paragone (p. 42)
Prato (limestone) for (P.)
monuments

East Impruneta

7 m. E. of Breccias (p. 37)
Florence

Monte Rantoli
between S. Giusto or
South valleys of [Monte Breccias (p. 37)
Ema and Martiri]
Greve

In the course of our inquiries we communicated with the Director of the
Biblioteca Vittorio Emmanuele at Rome, Commendatore Conte Gnoli, who
kindly gave attention to the subject, and contributed to the _Giornale
d’ Italia_ of Dec. 24, 1906, an interesting article, in which, though he
could give no account of Maestro Gian, he described fully the extant
works of which Vasari writes, and made some pertinent suggestions as to
the ‘round temple.’ He thinks it unlikely that the building of a
circular church from the foundations was contemplated by the French, and
suggests that they were utilizing the foundations of a round chamber
belonging to the Thermae of Nero which were in that neighbourhood, so
that the ‘round temple’ would have been like the present S. Bernardo in
the Thermae of Diocletian. M. Marcel Reymond has suggested that it was
the sack of Rome in 1527 that led to the abandonment of the project—for
the date of the undertaking can be fixed in the reign of François I of
France, who came to the throne in 1515, from the fact that his
cognizance, the salamander, occurs in the sculpture prepared for its
embellishment. If the artist be really Bertolotti’s ‘Chavenier,’ as he
died in 1527, this fact would also explain the abandonment.

The sculptures in question are in part incrusted in the façade of the
present church of S. Luigi (see ante, p. 52) and the fact that some of
them are carved on curved surfaces shows at once that they were prepared
for a building of cylindrical form. There are two large salamanders in
round frames of which one is shown on Plate VI, and two panels higher up
in the façade with the curious device of an eagle with the head of a
woman and outspread wings from which depend by ribbons on each side
small medallions. There are also some lions’ heads. The most curious
piece of all is built into the wall of the Palazzo Madama close beside
the church, and this contains the various devices that Vasari calls
‘astrological globes’ ‘open books showing the leaves,’ ‘trophies,’ etc.
The panel is small and placed too high to be properly seen, but Sig.
Gnoli, by the aid of the architect of the palace, was able to give a
description of them in the article above mentioned. The work is very
minute and elaborate, and there are inscriptions from which it appears
that the devices signify that the seven liberal arts are nourished by
the lilies of France. The sculpture is not only elaborate in design but
most artistic as well as delicate in execution. The ‘Salamander’ it will
be seen is excellent work. M. Marcel Reymond points out that at the
early part of the sixteenth century the Italians were accustomed to use
marble for decorative carvings, and that this French artist, whoever he
was, having been accustomed to carve the limestones of his native
country, took naturally to the manipulation of travertine, and that his
success with the material attracted the attention and admiration of the
Romans which Vasari’s commendations reflect. It has been noticed above
that Michelangelo’s frieze in the cortile of the Palazzo Farnese was not
carved but modelled in stucco. See ante, p. 53.

On the subject of the mysterious artist a word will be said in
connection with the later passage indicated at the beginning of this
Note. See postea, p. 175.

RUSTICATED MASONRY.

[See § 20, _Rusticated Masonry and the Tuscan Order_, ante, p. 65.]

In masonry of this kind the sides of the stones, where they come into
contact with each other, are dressed smooth, but the face of each stone
is left to project beyond the plane of the wall. The projections may be
rough and irregular, in which case the appearance is that of natural
stones, and a rugged rock-like aspect is given to the wall-face. The
projections may however be wrought into bosses of regular form, or into
the diamonds and facets of which Vasari goes on to speak, and of which a
notable example is the so-called ‘Palazzo de’ Diamanti’ at Ferrara.

This method of treating stones, at least when they are left rough and
irregular, saves time and labour, and hence it has been in use among
many ancient peoples, but almost always for substructures and parts not
meant to be seen. The Romans made a more extensive employment of it, and
we find it not only on sustaining walls, such as those of the Hadrianic
platform of the Olympeion at Athens, but on monumental wall-faces, as on
the enclosing wall of the Forum of Augustus near the Arco dei Pantani at
Rome, one of the finest extant specimens of Roman masonry but still
utilitarian in character. The deliberate use of rustication, as an
element of artistic effect, on the façade of a public building, is
another matter, and it is doubtful if any instance of this occurs before
the Italian Renaissance. There is a piece of Roman rusticated masonry
behind the ancient theatre at Fiesole, the classical Faesolae, and
Professor Durm thought at one time that the Florentine builders might
have derived from this their idea of using the device as a means of
expression in stonework. It may be questioned however whether this was
visible at all in the fifteenth century, and it is much more likely that
Renaissance rustication was a natural development from the treatment of
the wall in many mediaeval Tuscan buildings, in which the surface of the
stones is left to project in an irregular undesigned fashion. The
Palazzo Vecchio and the Gothic Palazzo Alessandri at Florence are
examples. In any case, in the hands of the architects of the Renaissance
rustication became an important element in the architectural style of
the period, and is one of the special contributions of this style to
architecture at large.

[Illustration:

PLATE VI

SALAMANDER CARVED IN TRAVERTINE

On the façade of S. Luigi dei Francesi, Rome, by a French artist,
‘Maestro Gian’
]

Rustication has two artistic advantages. In the first place, it
emphasizes the separate stones in an assemblage, and when these are of
great size and boldly hewn, as at the Pitti Palace at Florence, the work
gains in dignity through this individualizing of the distinct units of
the structure. The bossed surface of some of the blocks at the Pitti
stands out as much as three feet from the wall, and one of the stones is
twenty eight feet in length. In the second place, this rustic treatment
gives a look of rugged strength that is very effective, especially on
the lower stages of monumental buildings, where indeed the treatment is
most in place. The façade of Michelozzo’s Riccardi Palace, which Vasari
refers to under its older name the ‘Casa Medici’ is epoch-making in its
fine handling of rustication in degrees according to the stages of the
elevation.

It needs hardly to be said that the elaborately cut facets which Vasari
finds so beautiful, and of which we have seen an example in Fig. 4,
ante, p. 69, are too artificial to be reckoned in good architectural
style. It was a common practice, when the stones themselves were not all
of the same size, to cut these diamonds and other geometrical forms in
independence of the joints of the masonry, so that a facet might be half
on one stone and half on another. As this ignores the individuality of
the blocks, which the simpler rustication so effectually emphasizes, it
is by no means to be commended. Vasari’s last sentences in § 20, about
this treatment of stonework in general, are excellent. The rustication
on the Fortezza, shown in Fig. 4 is sincere, in that the jointing
corresponds with the design.

VASARI’S OPINION ON MEDIAEVAL ARCHITECTURE.

[See § 28, _German Work (the Gothic Style)_, ante, p. 83.]

Vasari’s tirade against the iniquities of the mediaeval mason is of
historical interest as reflecting the ideas of his age, but need not now
be taken seriously. The reason why he writes of it as ‘German’ work is
to be found in the close intercourse during the whole mediaeval period
between Germany and Italy, that were nominally under the one imperial
sceptre, and were only separated by the Brenner. ‘Tedesco’ stood to the
mind of the Italian for everything north of the Alps, and though the
pointed style in architecture was of French origin it appears to have
found its way into Italy through the Tyrol. One of the first churches in
this style in Italy, S. Francesco at Assisi, was designed by a German
master from Meran. But not only does Vasari call the manner he detests
‘Tedesco,’ he expressly, in this passage and elsewhere, ascribes it to
the Goths, who, after ruining the ancient buildings and killing off the
classically trained architects, had set to work to build with pointed
arches. It is clear from this phrase, as well as from the description he
gives of the little niches and pinnacles and leaves and the extravagant
height of doors, that he had in his mind the pointed style, that dates
from about the middle of the twelfth century. The Goths had then passed
out of existence for some six hundred years and Vasari’s chronology is
hopelessly at fault. The name ‘Gothic’ however, which he was the first
to apply in this sense, has adhered to the style ever since, and in
spite of efforts which have been made to supplant it, will probably
remain always in use, though no one will now or in the future make the
mistake of connecting it ethnologically with the historical Goths of the
fifth and sixth centuries.

The question who was actually the first to apply the term ‘Gothic’ in
this sense has been a subject of controversy. Some have attributed the
invention of the term to Raphael, or the author of the Report on the
condition of Roman monuments which passes under his name; while others
have claimed the dubious honour for Cesare Cesariano, the translator and
commentator of Vitruvius. Neither of these writers however uses the word
in the sense referred to. Raphael it is true writes of a ‘Gothic’ style
in architecture which succeeded to the classic Roman, but he makes it,
quite correctly, belong to the actual era of the Gothic conquest of
Italy in the fifth century and to the succeeding hundred years. The
later mediaeval architecture Raphael terms ‘architectura Tedesca,’ and
when he writes of this he seems to have in his view what we should
rather call Lombard Romanesque, for he blames in it the ‘strange animals
and figures, and foliage out of all reason.’ In other words Raphael, or
the author of the Report, distinctly does _not_ commit the historical
enormity of dragging the word ‘Gothic’ six centuries out of its proper
location and use.

With regard to Cesare Cesariano, this personage was born in 1483 and
studied architecture under Bramante. He was of good repute, Vasari tell
us, (_Opere_, IV, 149) as a geometrician and architect, and at one time
he was employed as director of the works on the cathedral of Milan, the
interior of which he completed in its present form. In 1521 there was
published at Como, at the charges of certain scholars and notables of
Milan and Como, an edition of Vitruvius headed ‘Di Lucio Vitruvio
Pollione a Caesare Augusto De Architectura Incomenza Il Primo Libro.
Translato In Vulgare Sermone Commentato Et Affigurato Da Caesare
Caesariano Citadino Mediolanense Professore Di Architectura Et C^a.’
Cesariano’s commentary is a fearsome work of appalling verbosity, but
there is nothing in it about the Goths being the originators of the
pointed style. He mentions the Goths on fol. cviii, b, but not in
connection with architecture, whereas when he does refer to late
mediaeval building he calls it not Gothic but German. On fol. xiii b and
on the succeeding pages he gives some interesting plans and drawings of
the cathedral of Milan, important in connection with the theory of the
use in Gothic design of the equilateral triangle, but distinctly notes
it as constructed by ‘Germanici architecti,’ ‘Germanico more,’ and
‘secundum Germanicam symmetriam’; while on fol. cx b he again says that
the building was in the hands of a German architect. (See Mothes,
_Baukunst des Mittelalters in Italien_, Jena, 1884, p. 502 ff.) It is
clear therefore that Cesare Cesariano has nothing to do with the use of
‘Gothic’ as an architectural term, and his name need not be mentioned in
this connection.

Filarete’s _Trattato dell’ Architettura_, dating about 1464, is not the
source of the usage, and as far as can be seen at present the credit, if
it be such, of the invention of the term ‘Gothic’ rests with Vasari.

EGG-SHELL MOSAIC.

[See § 33, _Pictorial Mosaics for Walls, etc._, ante, p. 93.]

This reference on the part of Vasari to ‘musaico di gusci d’ uovo,’
‘mosaic of egg-shells,’ is puzzling. In his Life of Gaddo Gaddi
(_Opere_, I, 348) he is more explicit, and states there ‘Dopo ciò,
ritornò Gaddo a Firenze, con animo di riposarsi: perchè, datosi a fare
piccole tavolette di musaico, ne condusse alcune di guscia d’ uova con
diligenza e pacienza incredibile; come si può, fra le altre, vedere in
alcune che ancor oggi sono nel tempio di San Giovanni di Firenze.’

The Lemonnier editors of Vasari added a note to this passage to the
effect that one of these small plaques, representing a Christ with an
open book in His left hand, was preserved when they wrote in the Uffizi,
and that the mosaic was ‘composed of very minute pieces of egg-shell
united together with a diligence and a patience truly incredible.’ This
piece is now in the Chapel in the Bargello and Dr Giovanni Poggi has had
the kindness to examine it minutely. He reports that there is no sign of
the use of egg-shell in it, but that it is a finely executed mosaic of
small pieces of coloured materials of a hard substance, in all respects
similar to the portable Byzantine mosaics of which there are two notable
specimens in the Opera del Duomo at Florence (Gori, _Thes. Vet.
Diptychorum_, III, 320 f.). Eugène Müntz noticed various examples of
this kind of work in an article in the _Bulletin Monumental_, 1886, and
one of them, an ‘Annunciation’ in the Victoria and Albert Museum, is a
typical piece. It is composed of tesserae of minute size of different
coloured marbles, lapis lazuli, etc., on a ground of gold formed of
little cubes of the metal, all bedded in wax or similar yielding
substance. There is no sign of the use of egg-shell, and indeed the idea
of a mosaic of pieces of egg-shell seems absurd, because there is no
variety of colour, and therefore no possibility of mosaic effect without
painting each piece some special hue.

Were it only Vasari who mentioned this supposed egg-shell mosaic the
matter might be passed over, but as a fact one of the chapters of
Cennino Cennini’s _Trattato_ is devoted to this very subject. He there
describes, c. 172, what he calls a ‘mosaic’ of small cubes of the pith
of feathers and of egg-shells, but the technique as he explains it is
not mosaic, properly so-called, but rather an imitation of mosaic by
means of painting on a roughened ground giving something of the effect
of a ground laid with tesserae. Egg-shells are apparently crushed down
on the surface so as to give it a sort of crackled appearance, and
varieties of colour are added by the paint brush. Vasari mentions in his
life of Agnolo Gaddi, _Opere_, I, 643 f., that he had seen a MS. of
Cennino’s treatise, and it is possible that he remembered the heading
‘musaico di gusci d’ uovo’ and, with his instinct for giving a personal
interest to everything, attributed to one of his early Florentines,
Gaddo Gaddi, the use of the supposed technique. We have not been able to
hear of any extant piece of work corresponding to Cennino’s description,
though we have to thank several expert authorities for kindly
interesting themselves in the matter. Cennino’s notice is appended in
the original. It does not occur in the Tambroni text.

Description of the technique in Cennino Cennini, _Il Libro dell’ Arte_,
ed. Milanesi, Firenze, 1859, cap. clxxii.

‘Come si Lavora in Opera Musaica per adornamento di Reliquie; e del
Musaico di Bucciuoli di penne, e di Gusci d’ Uovo.

* * * * *

... A questa opra medesima, e molto fine, buccioli di penne tagliati
molto minuti sì come panico e tinti sì come detto ho. Ancora puoi
lavorare del detto musaico in questo modo. Togli le tue guscia d’ uovo
ben peste pur bianche, e in sulla figura disegnata campeggia, riempi e
lavora sì come fussi coloriti: e poi quando hai campeggiata la tua
figura coi colori propii da cassetta, e temperati con un poco di
chiara d’ uovo, va’ colorendo la figura di parte in parte, sì come
facessi in su lo ’ngessato propio, pur d’ acquerelle di colori; e poi
quando è secco, vernica sì come vernici l’altre cose in tavola. Per
campeggiare le dette figure, sì come fai in muro, a te conviene
pigliare questo partito, di toglier fogliette dorate, o arientate, o
oro grosso battuto o ariento grosso battuto: taglialo minutissimo, e
colle dette mollette va’ campeggiando a modo che campeggi i tuoi gusci
pesti, dove il campo richiede oro. Ancora, campeggiare di gusci
bianchi il campo; bagnare di chiara d’ uovo battuta, di quella che
metti il tuo oro in sul vetro; bagna della medesima; metti il tuo oro
come trae il campo; lascia asciugare, e brunisci con bambagia. E
questo basti alla detta opera musaica, o vuoi greca.’

IDEAL ARCHITECTURE; AN IDEAL PALACE.

[See § 35, _An Ideal Palace_, ante, p. 96.]

The construction—in words—of an imaginary mansion of the type suited to
the ideas of the Renaissance was a favourite exercise among both
professional and amateur writers, and Vasari might have made a greater
effort than he has done to rise to the height of his subject. The theme
had some significance. The intent of those who dealt with it was to
provide the man of the Renaissance with a fit setting for his life, and
the spacious and lordly palace corresponded to the amplitude of the
personality developed by the humanistic culture of the age. The
representative man of the Renaissance may have missed certain of the
higher ethical qualities, but he was many-sided, in mind and person a
finely developed creature, self-reliant, instinct with vigour and set on
mastery. Such a being demanded space and opulence with an air of
greatness in his habitation, and fitly to house him was a task calling
forth all the powers of the architects of the period. An imposing façade
with heraldic achievements should proclaim his worth, wide gateways and
roomy courts and loggie give an impression of lordly ease, broad
staircases and ample halls suggest the coming and going of companies of
guests. He would need a garden, where marble seats in ilex shades or in
grottoes beside cool fountains should await him in hours when reflection
or reading, music or conversation, called him awhile from keen conflict
of wit or policy with his peers in the world outside. He would exact
moreover that over all the place Art should breathe a spell to soothe
the senses and to flatter pride; art sumptuous in materials,
accomplished in technique, pagan in form and spirit, should people the
galleries with sculptured shapes, cover walls and roof with graceful
imagery, and set here and there on cabinet or console some jewel of
carved ivory or gilded wood or chiselled bronze.

All the great architects of the Renaissance were at work on these
palaces first at Florence and then in every rich Italian town, but the
actual achievement that circumstances allowed fell far short of the
ideal perfection, the effort after which was the best spiritual product
of the Renaissance. Hence it became the fashion to draw out visionary
schemes of princely dwellings, and even of whole city quarters for the
setting of these, and ideal architecture furnishes matter for a chapter
in the art history of the times. Filarete’s _Trattato dell’
Architettura_ is full of matter of the kind. In his eighth Book he
describes a palace for a prince, in Book eleven an ideal mansion for a
nobleman; and his proposed arrangements are all on a grandiose scale.
Ammanati, who built the Ponte della Trinità at Florence, left a whole
collection of drawings for a ‘Città Ideale,’ and Leonardo da Vinci’s
codices are fertile in similar suggestions. In France, where this phase
of the artistic activity of the Renaissance was as much in evidence as
in Italy, the actual palaces of king or noble were far outdone in
splendour and in symmetry by the schemes of Palissy or De l’Orme, of
which Baron de Geymüller has given an interesting notice in his
_Baukunst der Renaissance in Frankreich_, published in the _Handbuch der
Architectur_.

Nor was it only the professed artists who occupied themselves in this
fashion. It was a literary exercise to scheme out in vague and general
outlines the ideal habitation for prince or for community, and Rabelais’
Abbey of Theleme, with its nine thousand three hundred and thirty two
rooms, its libraries, theatres, and recreation halls, is the most famous
example of its kind. In our own literature too there must not be
forgotten Francis Bacon’s Essay on Building, in which he draws out the
general configuration of what he calls a ‘perfect palace,’ where the
façade is in two wings ‘uniform without, though severally partitioned
within,’ and these are to be ‘on both sides of a great and stately
tower, in the midst of the front; that as it were joineth them together
on either hand.’ Symmetry is of course the characteristic of all these
ideal structures, as it was long ago of the visionary temple described
by Ezechiel, and Vasari’s palace is no exception to the rule. Vasari’s
description does not convey a very clear idea of what he conceived the
ideal palace would be, and he might have done better for the theme had
he not hampered himself at the outset with the otiose comparison of the
house to a human body. This he may have derived from Filarete, who also
employs the conceit.

OF SCULPTURE

CHAPTER I. (VIII.)

What Sculpture is; how good works of Sculpture are made, and what
qualities they must possess to be esteemed perfect.

§ 36. _The Nature of Sculpture._

Sculpture is an art which by removing all that is superfluous from the
material under treatment reduces it to that form designed in the
artist’s mind.[152]

§ 37. _Qualities necessary for Work in the Round._

Now seeing that all figures of whatever sort, whether carved in marble,
cast in bronze, or wrought in plaster or wood, must be in salient work
in the round, and seeing too that as we walk round them they are looked
at from every side, it is clear that if we want to call them perfect
they must have many qualities. The most obvious is that when such a
figure is presented to our eyes, it should show at the first glance the
expression intended, whether pride or humility, caprice, gaiety or
melancholy—according to the personage portrayed. It must also be
balanced in all its members: that is, it must not have long legs, a
thick head, and short and deformed arms; but be well proportioned, and
from head to foot have each part conforming with the others. In the same
way, if the figure have the face of an old man, let it have the arms,
body, legs, hands, and feet of an old man, the skeleton symmetrically
ordered throughout, the muscles and sinews and veins all in their proper
places. If it have the face of a youth, it must in like manner be round,
soft and sweet in expression, harmonious in every part. If it is not to
be nude, do not let the drapery that is to cover it be so meagre as to
look thin, nor clumsy like lumps of stone, but let the flow of the folds
be so turned that they reveal the nude beneath—and with art and grace
now show now hide it without any harshness that may detract from the
figure. Let the hair and beard be worked with a certain delicacy,
arranged and curled to show they have been combed, having the greatest
softness and grace given to them that the chisel can convey; and because
the sculptors cannot in this part actually counterfeit nature, they make
the locks of hair solid and curled, working from manner[153] rather than
in imitation of nature. Even though the figures be draped, the feet and
hands must be modelled with the care and beauty shown in the other
parts. And as the figure is in the round, it is essential that in front,
in profile, and at the back, it be of equal proportions, having at every
turn and view to show itself happily disposed throughout. Indeed the
whole work must be harmonious, and exhibit pose, drawing and unity,
grace and finish; these qualities taken together show the natural talent
and capacity of the artist.

§ 38. _Works of Sculpture should be treated with a view to their
destined position._

Figures in relief as well as in painting ought to be produced with
judgement rather than in a mechanical way,[154] especially when they are
to be placed on a height, at a great distance. In this position the
finish of the last touches is lost, though the beautiful form of the
arms and legs, and the good taste displayed in the cast of drapery, with
folds not too numerous, may easily be recognized; in this simplicity and
reserve is shown the refinement of the talent. Figures whether of marble
or of bronze that stand somewhat high, must be boldly undercut in order
that the marble which is white and the bronze which tends towards black
may receive some shading from the atmosphere, and thus the work at a
distance appear to be finished, though from near it is seen to be left
only in the rough. This was a point to which the ancients paid great
attention, as we see in their figures in the round and in half relief,
in the arches and the columns in Rome, which still testify to the great
judgement they possessed. Among the moderns, the same quality is notably
exhibited in his works by Donatello. Again, it is to be remembered, that
when statues are to be in a high position, and there is not much space
below to enable one to go far enough off to view them at a distance, but
one is forced to stand almost under them, they must be made one head or
two taller. This is done because those figures which are placed high up
lose in the foreshortening, when viewed by one standing beneath and
looking upwards. Therefore that which is added in height comes to be
consumed in the foreshortening, and they turn out when looked at to be
really in proportion, correct and not dwarfed, nay rather full of grace.
And if the artist should not desire to do this he can keep the members
of the figure rather slender and refined, this gives almost the same
effect.

§ 39. _The Proportions of the Human Figure._

It is the custom of many artists to make the figure nine heads high;
dividing it in the following manner; the throat, the neck, and the
height of the foot (from the instep to the sole) are equal to one head
and the rest of the body to eight; of these, the shinbone measures two
heads, from the knee to the organs of generation two more, while the
body up to the pit of the throat is equal to three, with another from
the chin to the top of the forehead, so that there are nine in all.[155]
As to the measurements across, from the pit of the throat to the
shoulder on each side is the length of a head, and each arm to the wrist
is three heads. Thus the man with his arms stretched out measures
exactly as much as his height.

§ 40. _Artists must depend on their Judgement rather than on the
Measuring Rule._

After all the eye must give the final judgement, for, even though an
object be most carefully measured, if the eye remain offended it will
not cease on that account to censure it.

Let me repeat that although measurement exercises a just control in
enlarging the figure so that the height and breadth, kept according to
rule, may make the work well proportioned and beautiful, the eye
nevertheless must decide where to take away and where to add as it sees
defect in the work, till the due proportion, grace, design and
perfection are attained, so that the work may be praised in all its
parts by every competent authority. And that statue or figure which
shall have these qualities will be perfect in beauty, in design and in
grace. Such figures we call figures ‘in the round,’ provided that all
the parts appear finished, just as one sees them in a man, when walking
round him; the same holds good of all the details which depend on the
whole. But it seems to me high time to come to the particulars of the
subject.

CHAPTER II. (IX.)

Of the manner of making Models in Wax and in Clay; how they are
draped, and how they are afterwards enlarged in proportion in the
Marble; how Marbles are worked with the point and the toothed tool,
and are rubbed with pumice stone and polished till they are perfect.

§ 41. _The small Sketch-Model in Wax or Clay._

Sculptors, when they wish to work a figure in marble, are accustomed to
make what is called a model for it in clay or wax or plaster; that is, a
pattern, about a foot high, more or less, according as is found
convenient, because they can exhibit in it the attitude and proportion
of the figure that they wish to make, endeavouring to adapt themselves
to the height and breadth of the stone quarried for their statue.

§ 42. _The Preparation of Wax._

In order to show how wax is modelled, let us first speak of the working
of wax and not of clay. To render it softer a little animal fat and
turpentine and black pitch are put into the wax, and of these
ingredients it is the fat that makes it more supple; the turpentine adds
tenacity, and the pitch gives it the black colour and a certain
consistency, so that after it has been worked and left to stand it
becomes hard. And he who would wish to make wax of another colour, may
easily do so by putting into it red earth, or vermilion or red lead; he
will thus make it of a yellowish red or some such shade; if he add
verdigris, green, and so on with the other colours. But it is well to
notice that the colours should be ground into powder and sifted, and in
this state afterwards mixed with the wax made as liquid as possible. The
wax is also made white for small things, medals, portraits, minute
scenes and other objects of bas-relief. And this is done by mixing
powdered white lead with the white wax as explained above.

§ 43. _Polychrome Wax Effigies._[156]

Nor shall I conceal that modern artists have discovered the method of
working in wax of all sorts of colours, so that in taking portraits from
the life in half relief, they make the flesh tints, the hair, the
clothes and all the other details so life-like that to these figures
there lacks nothing, as it were, but the spirit and the power of speech.

§ 44. _The Manipulation of Wax over an Armature._

But to return to the manner of preparing the wax; when the mixture has
been melted and allowed to go cold, it is made into sticks or rolls.
These from the warmth of the hands become, in the working, like dough
and are suitable for modelling a figure that is seated or erect or as
you please. To make the figure support itself, it may have underneath
the wax an armature either of wood, or of iron wires according to the
pleasure of the artist; or this can be omitted if it suit him better.
Little by little, always adding material, with judgement and
manipulation, the artist impresses the wax by means of tools made of
bone, iron, or wood, and again putting on more he alters and refines
till with the fingers the utmost finish is given to the model.

§ 45. _The Small Model in Clay._

Should he wish to make his model in clay, he works exactly as with wax,
but without the armature of wood or iron underneath, because that would
cause the clay to crack open or break up;[157] and that it may not crack
while it is being worked he keeps it covered with a wet cloth till it is
completed.

§ 46. _The Full-sized Model in Clay._

When these small models or figures of wax or clay are finished, the
artist sets himself to make another model as large as the actual figure
intended to be executed in marble. In fashioning this he must use
deliberation, because the clay which is worked in a damp state shrinks
in drying; he therefore, as he works, adds more bit by bit and at the
very last mixes some baked flour with the clay to keep it soft and
remove the dryness.[158] This trouble is taken that the model shall not
shrink but remain accurate and similar to the figure to be carved in
marble. To ensure that the large clay model shall support itself and the
clay not crack, the artist must take some soft cuttings of cloth or some
horse hair, and mix this with the clay to render it tenacious and not
liable to split. The figure is supported by wood underneath with pressed
tow or hay fastened to it with string.[159] The bones of the figure are
made and placed in the necessary pose after the pattern of the small
model, whether erect or seated; and from the beginning to the end of the
process of covering it with clay the figure is formed in the nude.

§ 47. _Drapery on the Clay Model._

This completed, if the artist desire afterwards to clothe it with thin
drapery, he takes fine cloth, if with heavy, he takes coarse, and wets
it and then covers it over with clay, not liquid but of the consistency
of rather thick mud, and arranges it around the figure in such folds and
creases as the mind suggests; this when dry, becomes hardened and
continues to keep the folds.[160]

§ 48. _Transference of the Full-sized Model to the Marble Block._

Models, whether of wax or of clay, are formed in the same manner. To
enlarge the figure proportionately in the marble[161] it is necessary
that against this same block, whence the figure has to be carved, there
shall be placed a carpenter’s square, one leg of which shall be
horizontal at the foot of the figure while the other is vertical and is
always at right angles with the horizontal, and so too with the straight
piece above; and similarly let another square of wood or other material
be adjusted to the model, by means of which the measures may be taken
from the model, for instance how much the legs project forward and how
much the arms. Let the artist proceed to carve out the figure from these
measurements, transferring them to the marble from the model, so that
measuring the marble and the model in proportion he gradually chisels
away the stone till the figure thus measured time after time, issues
forth from the marble, in the same manner that one would lift a wax
figure out of a pail of water, evenly and in a horizontal position.
First would appear the body, the head, and the knees, the figure
gradually revealing itself as it is raised upwards, till there would
come to view the relief more than half completed and finally the
roundness of the whole.

§ 49. _Danger of dispensing with the Full-sized Model._

Those artificers who are in a hurry to get on, and who hew into the
stone at the first and rashly cut away the marble in front and at the
back have no means afterwards of drawing back in case of need.[162] Many
errors in statues spring from this impatience of the artist to see the
round figure out of the block at once, so that often an error is
revealed that can only be remedied by joining on pieces, as we have seen
to be the habit of many modern artists. This patching is after the
fashion of cobblers and not of competent men or rare masters, and is
ugly and despicable and worthy of the greatest blame.

§ 50. _The Tools and Materials used in Marble Carving._

Sculptors are accustomed, in working their marble statues, to begin by
roughing out the figures with a kind of tool they call ‘subbia,’ which
is pointed and heavy; it is used to block out their stone in the large,
and then with other tools called ‘calcagnuoli’ which have a notch in the
middle and are short, they proceed to round it, till they come to use a
flat tool more slender than the calcagnuolo, which has two notches and
is called ‘gradina’: with this they go all over the figure, gently
chiselling it to keep the proportion of the muscles and the folds, and
treating it in such a manner that the notches or teeth of the tool give
the stone a wonderful grace. This done, they remove the tooth marks with
a smooth chisel, and in order to perfect the figure, wishing to add
sweetness, softness and finish to it, they work off with curved files
all traces of the gradina. They proceed in the same way with slender
files and straight rasps, to complete the smoothing process,[163] and
lastly with points of pumice stone they rub all over the figure to give
that flesh-like appearance that is seen in marvellous works of
sculpture. Tripoli earth is also used to make it lustrous and polished,
and for the same reason it is rubbed over with straw made into
bunches—till, finished and shining, it appears before us in its
beauty.[164]

CHAPTER III. (X.)

Of Low and Half Reliefs, the difficulty of making them and how to
bring them to perfection.

§ 51. _The Origin of Reliefs._

Those works that sculptors call half reliefs[165] were invented by the
ancients to make figure compositions with which to adorn flat walls, and
they adopted this treatment in theatres and triumphal arches, because,
even had they wished to sculpture figures in the round, they could not
place them unless they first constructed a standing ground or an open
place that was flat. Desiring therefore to avoid this, they invented a
kind of sculpture which they named half relief, and it is called ‘mezzo
rilievo’ still among ourselves.

§ 52. _Pictorial or Perspective Reliefs._

In the manner of a picture this kind of relief sets forth first the
whole of the principal figures, either in half round or still greater
salience, as may happen, the figures on the second plane partly hidden
by the first, and those on the third by the second, just as living
people are seen when they are assembled and crowded together. In this
kind of half relief, for the sake of perspective, they make the most
distant figures low, some of the heads indeed extremely low, and no less
so the houses and scenery which are the objects most remote. By none has
this species of half relief ever been better executed, with more
observation, or with its figures diminished and spaced one from the
other more correctly than by the ancients;[166] for they, who were
students of the truth and gifted artists, never made the figures in such
compositions with ground that is foreshortened or seems to run away, but
placed them with their feet resting on the moulding beneath them. In
contrast to this, some of our own moderns, over eager, have, in their
compositions in half relief, made their principal figures stand on the
plane which is in low relief and recedes, and the middle figures on the
same plane in such a position that, as they stand, they do not rest the
feet as firmly as is natural, whence it not infrequently happens that
the points of the feet of those figures that turn their backs actually
touch the shins of their own legs, so violent is the foreshortening.
Such things are seen in many modern works, and even in the gates of the
Baptistry and in many examples of that period. Therefore half reliefs of
this character are incorrect, because, if the foremost figures project
half out of the stone while others have to be placed behind them, there
must be a rule for the retiring and diminution; the feet of the figures
have to be on the ground, so that the ground may come forward in front
as required by the eye and the rule in things painted. Accordingly the
figures must be gradually reduced in proportion as they recede till they
reach the flattened and low relief; and because of the harmony required
it is difficult to carry out the work perfectly seeing that in relief
the feet and heads are foreshortened. Great skill in design therefore is
necessary if the artist wish to exhibit his ability in this art. The
same degree of perfection is demanded for figures in clay or wax as for
those worked in bronze and marble. Therefore of all the works which have
the qualities that I indicate the half reliefs may be considered most
beautiful and most highly praised by experienced artists.

§ 53. _Low Reliefs (Bassi Rilievi)._

The second species called low reliefs projects much less than the half
reliefs; they have not more than half the boldness of the others, and
one can rightly make in these low reliefs the ground, the buildings, the
prospects, the stairs and the landscapes as we see in the bronze pulpits
in San Lorenzo at Florence, and in all the low reliefs of Donatello, who
in this art produced things truly divine with the greatest truth to
nature. These reliefs present themselves easily to the eye and without
errors or barbarisms, seeing that they do not project forward so much as
to give occasion for errors or censure.

§ 54. _Flat Reliefs (Stiacciati Rilievi)._

The third species called low or flattened reliefs only shows up the
design of the figure in the very lowest and most depressed relief. These
reliefs are very difficult for they demand great skill in design and
invention, and as all depends on the outlines it is a hard thing to
impart charm to them. Donatello worked better here than did any other,
with art, design and invention.[167] In the ancient vases of
Arezzo,[168] many figures, masks, and other ancient compositions are to
be seen in this sort of work: likewise in the antique cameos, in moulds
for striking bronze pieces for medals, and also in coins. This style was
chosen because, if the relief had been too high, the coins could not
have been struck, for the blow of the hammer would not have produced the
impression since the punches have to be pressed on to the cast material,
and when this is in low relief it costs little trouble to fill the
cavities of the punch. Now-a-days we see that many modern artists have
worked divinely in this style, more even than did the ancients, as shall
be fully described in their Lives. Therefore, he who recognizes in the
half reliefs the perfection of the figures so carefully made to
diminish, and in the lower reliefs the excellence of the design in the
perspectives and other inventions, and in the flattened reliefs the
clearness, the refinement and the beautiful form of the figures, will do
well to regard them on account of these qualities as worthy of praise or
blame, and will teach others also so to regard them.

CHAPTER IV. (XI.)

§ 55. _The Full-sized Model for Bronze._

It is the custom of competent artists, when they wish to cast large
figures in metal or bronze,[169] to make first a statue of clay as large
as that intended to be cast in metal, and to perfect the clay statue as
far as their art and their knowledge will allow.

§ 56. _The Piece-Mould in Plaster._

When this, which they call the model, is finished and brought to this
point of perfection, they then begin, with plaster that will set, to
build over it piece by piece, making the pieces correspond to the relief
of the model. On every piece they make a key, marking the pieces with
numbers or letters of the alphabet or with other signs in order that the
pieces can be taken off and register together. So they mould it part by
part, oiling the pieces of the cast where the edges have to be
connected; till from piece to piece the figure grows, the head, the
arms, the body and the legs, to the last detail, in such a manner that
the concave of the statue, that is the hollow mould, comes to be
imprinted on the inner surface with all the parts and with the very
minutest marking which is in the model.[170] This completed, the plaster
casts are laid aside to harden.

§ 57. _The Construction of the Core._

The workers then take a rod of iron longer than the whole figure that
they wish to make, and that is to be cast, and over this they make a
core of clay into which, while kneading it to make it soft, they mix
horse dung and hair. The core has the same form as the model and is
baked in successive layers so as to draw out the dampness of the clay;
this is of use afterwards to the figure, for in casting the statue all
this core, which is solid, leaves an empty space that is not filled with
bronze, because if it were, the figure could not be moved on account of
the weight. They make this core large enough and justly measured, so
that when the layers are heated and baked, as has been said, the clay
becomes well burned through and so entirely freed from damp, that in
pouring the bronze upon it afterwards it does not spurt nor do injury,
as has happened many times, involving the death of the masters and the
ruin of the work. Thus they go on balancing the core and adjusting and
examining the pieces, till they tally with it and represent it, so that
there comes to be left exactly the thickness, or, (if we like to say
so,) the thinness, of the metal, according as you wish the statue to be.

Frequently this core has an armature of rods of copper across it, and
irons that can be taken out and put in to hold it with security and with
greater strength.[171] The core, after it is finished, is yet again
baked with a gentle heat, and the moisture, should any have remained,
entirely removed; it is then again laid aside.

§ 58. _The Piece-Mould lined with a Skin of Wax._

Returning now to the pieces of the hollow mould, these are lined
severally with yellow wax that has been softened and incorporated with a
little turpentine and tallow.[172] When the wax is melted at the fire,
it is poured into the two halves of the mould made up of the hollow
pieces in such a manner as causes the wax to come thin according to the
worker’s idea for the cast, and the pieces, which have been shaped to
correspond with the relief of the core already made of clay, are joined
to it and fitted and grafted together.

§ 59. _This Skin of Wax applied over the Core._

[Illustration:

PLATE VII

ILLUSTRATION SHOWING PROCESS OF PIECE-MOULDING IN PLASTER
]

With thin skewers of copper the pieces of wax pierced with the said
skewers are now fixed to the baked core, and so, piece by piece, they
are inserted and fitted to the figure and render it entirely finished.
This completed they proceed to remove all the superfluous wax that has
overflowed into the interstices of the pieces, and bring it as well as
possible to that finished excellence and perfection which one desires in
the bronze cast. Before going further, the craftsman sets up the figure
and considers diligently if the wax have any deficiency, and he proceeds
to repair it and to fill up again, putting on more or taking away where
necessary.[173]

§ 60. _The fire-resisting Envelope applied over the Wax._

After that, the wax being completed and the figure braced together, he
puts it where fire can be applied to it[174] on two andirons of wood,
stone, or iron like a roast, arranging so that it can be raised or
lowered; and with moistened ash, specially fitted for that purpose, by
means of a paint brush he covers the entire figure so that the wax is
quite concealed, and over every hollow and chink he clothes it well with
this material. Having applied the ash to it he replaces the transverse
rods, which pass through the wax and the core, just as he has left them
in the figure, because these have to support the core within and the
mould without, which is the casing of the hollow space between the core
and the mould, where the bronze is to be poured. When this armature has
been fixed, the artificer begins to take some fine earth, beaten
together with horse dung and hair, as I said, and carefully lays a very
thin coating all over which he allows to dry, and so on time after time
with other coatings, always allowing each to dry until the figure
becomes covered with earth raised to the thickness of half a span at the
most.

§ 61. _The External Armature._

This done, he girds those irons that hold the core within with other
irons which hold the mould outside, and fixes them together, so that
chained and bound the one to the other they form a mutual support,[175]
the core within sustaining the mould without and the mould without
holding firm the core within.

§ 62. _The Vents._

It is usual to make certain little pipes between the core and the outer
mould called vents, that have issue upwards; they are put, for instance,
from a knee to an arm that is raised, because these give passage to the
metal[176] to make up for that which on account of some impediment may
not flow properly, and these little tubes are made many or few,
according as the casting is difficult or not.

§ 63. _The Wax melted out._

This done, the worker proceeds to apply heat to the said mould equally
all over, so that it may become united and little by little be warmed
through, and he increases the heat till the mould is thoroughly hot
throughout, so that the wax which is in the hollow space becomes melted
and all flows out at the spot through which the metal is to be poured,
without any particle of the wax remaining within.[177] To be sure of
this, it is needful, before the pieces of wax are grafted in to their
places on the figure, to weigh them piece by piece; in the same way
after drawing out the wax, it must be weighed again, when by making the
subtraction the artist sees if any wax be left between the core and the
mould, and how much has come out. Notice that the skill and care of the
artist is manifested in the process of taking out the wax; herein is
seen the difficulty of producing the casts so that they come out sharp
and beautiful, for if any of the wax be left, it would ruin the whole
cast, especially that part where the wax remains.

§ 64. _The Mould in the Casting-pit._

This finished, the craftsman puts the mould under ground near to the
furnace where the bronze is melted, propping it so that the bronze may
not strain it, and he makes the channels through which the bronze is to
flow, and at the top he leaves a certain thickness, which allows for the
surplus of the bronze to be sawn off afterwards, and this he does in
order to secure sharpness.[178]

§ 65. _The Composition of the Bronze._

The artist prepares the metal as he thinks fit, and for every pound of
wax he puts ten pounds of metal.[179] Statuary metal is made of the
combination of two thirds of copper and one third of brass according to
the Italian rule. The Egyptians, from whom this art took its origin, put
into the bronze two thirds of brass and one third of copper. In electron
metal, which is the finest of all, two parts copper are put to one part
silver. In bells, for every hundred parts of copper there are twenty of
tin, in order that the sound of the bells may carry far and be more
blended; and for artillery, in every hundred parts of copper, ten of
tin.[180]

§ 66. _Making up Imperfections._

There only remains to us now to teach the method of grafting a piece
into the figure should it have a defect, either because the bronze
coagulated, or ran too thin, or did not reach some part of the mould. In
this case let the artificer entirely remove the defective part of the
cast and make a square hole in its place, cutting it out under the
carpenter’s square, then let him adjust a piece of metal prepared for
that spot, that may project upward as much as he pleases, and when
fitted exactly in the square hole let him strike it with the hammer to
send it home, and with files and tools make it even and thoroughly
finished.

[Illustration:

PLATE VIII

ENGRAVINGS ILLUSTRATING THE PROCESS OF CASTING IN BRONZE

From the French _Encyclopédie_
]

§ 67. _A simpler Method of Casting small Figures and Reliefs._

Now should the artificer wish to cast small figures in metal, they are
first made of wax, or if he happen to have them in clay or other
material, he makes the shell of plaster over them in the same way as for
the large figures, and fills it all with wax. But the shell must be
moistened that the wax, when poured into it, may set (with a hard skin)
by reason of the coldness of the wet cast. Then by shaking about and
agitating the cast, the wax (which is not hardened) within the cavity is
thrown out, so that the cast remains hollow in the interior: the
craftsman afterwards fills up the vacant space with clay and puts in
skewers of iron. This clay serves then for core, but it must be allowed
to dry well. Thereafter he adjusts the mould as for the other large
figures, giving it its armature and placing the tubes for the vents.
Then he bakes it and gets rid of the (skin of) wax and thus the vacant
space remains clear so that the bronze can easily be poured in. The same
is done with the low and half reliefs and with every other work in
metal.

§ 68. _Chasing the Cast and Colouring the Bronze._

These casts being finished, the workman then, with suitable tools, that
is, with burins, burnishers, chasing tools, punches, chisels and files,
removes material where needed, and where needed presses inward the
overflow of the metal and smoothes it down; and with other tools that
scrape, he shaves and cleans the whole of it diligently, and finally
with pumice stone gives the last polish. This bronze which is red when
it is worked assumes through time by a natural change a colour that
draws towards black. Some turn it black with oil, others with vinegar
make it green, and others with varnish give it the colour of black, so
that every one makes it come as he likes best.

§ 69. _Modern Tours de Force in small Castings._

But that is a truly marvellous thing which is come to pass in our times,
this mode of casting figures, large as well as small, so excellently
that many masters make them come out in the cast quite clear so that
they have not to be chased with tools, and as thin as the back of a
knife. And what is more, some clays and ashes used for this purpose are
actually so fine, that tufts of rue and any other slender herb or flower
can be cast in silver and in gold, quite easily and with such success,
that they are as beautiful as the natural; from which it is seen that
this art is more excellent now than it was in the time of the ancients.

CHAPTER V. (XII.)

Concerning Steel Dies for making Medals of bronze or other metals and
how the latter are formed from these metals and from Oriental Stones
and Cameos.

§ 70. _The Fabrication of Matrices for Medals._

The craftsman who wishes to make medals of bronze or silver or gold
after the manner of the ancients, must first with iron punches work in
relief the faces of steel dies of which the metal has been softened
piece by piece in the fire; as for example, the head alone in low
relief, in a single steel die; and so with the other parts which are
joined to it. Fashioned thus of steel, all the dies needed for the medal
are tempered by fire; and on the block of tempered steel, that is to
serve for mould and matrix of the medal, the artist proceeds to imprint
by means of hammer strokes the head and the other parts in their proper
places. And after imprinting the whole, he diligently smoothes it and
polishes it again, giving finish and perfection to the said mould that
has afterwards to serve for matrix. Many artificers have been in the
habit however of carving the matrices with wheels, just as intaglio work
is done in crystals, jaspers, calcedonies, agates, amethysts, sardonyx,
lapis lazuli, chrysolites, cornelians, cameos and other oriental stones;
and the work done in this way makes the matrices more sharp, as is the
case in the aforesaid stones. In the same way they make (the matrix for)
the reverse of the medal, and with these two, the matrix of the head and
that of the reverse side, (trial) medals of wax and of lead are struck.
These are moulded afterwards with a very finely powdered earth suitable
for the purpose; and in these moulds, when the wax or leaden (trial)
medal has been taken out, and they are pressed together in the frame,
you may cast any kind of metal which pleases you for your medal.

These casts are then replaced in the steel matrices that correspond to
them and by force of screws or wedges and with hammer blows they are
pressed so tightly, that they take that finish of surface from the stamp
that they have not taken from the casting process. But coins and other
medals in low relief are stamped without screws, by blows of the hammer
struck by hand.[181]

§ 71. _The Cutting of Intaglios and Cameos._

Those oriental stones that we spoke of above are cut in intaglio with
wheels by means of emery, which with the wheel cuts its way through any
sort of hardness of any stone whatever. And as the craftsman proceeds,
he is always testing by wax impressions the intaglio which he is
fashioning; and in this manner he goes on removing material where he
deems it necessary, till the final touches are given to the work. Cameos
however are worked in relief; and because this stone is in layers, that
is white above and dark underneath, the worker removes just so much of
the white as will leave the head or figure white on a dark ground. And
sometimes, in order to secure that the whole head or figure should
appear white on a dark ground, he dyes the ground when it is not so dark
as it should be. In this art we have seen wondrous and divine works both
ancient and modern.

CHAPTER VI. (XIII.)

How works in White Stucco are executed, and of the manner of preparing
the Wall underneath for them, and how the work is carried out.

§ 72. _Modelled and stamped Plaster Work._

The ancients, when they wished to make vaults or panels or doors or
windows or other ornaments of white stucco, were in the habit of
building a skeleton of walling either of baked bricks or of tufa, that
is, a stone that is soft and easy to cut. Making use of these, they
built up the bones underneath, giving them the form of mouldings or
figures or whatever they wished to make, cutting them out of the bricks
or stones, which were afterwards put together with mortar.

Then with stucco, which in our fourth chapter (of Architecture) we
described as crushed marble mixed with lime from travertine, they begin
to cover the aforesaid skeleton with the first daub of rough stucco,
that is coarse and granulated, to be covered over with finer when the
first stucco has set and is firm, but not thoroughly dry. The reason for
this is that to work the mass of the material above a damp bed makes it
unite better, therefore they keep wetting the stucco at the place where
the upper coating is laid on so as to render it more easy to work.

To make (enriched) mouldings or modelled leafage it is necessary to have
shapes of wood carved in intaglio with those same forms that you wish to
render in relief. The worker takes stucco that is not actually hard nor
really soft, but in a way tenacious, and puts it on the work in the
quantity needed for the detail intended to be formed. He then places
over it the said hollowed mould which is powdered with marble dust,
striking it with a hammer so that the blows fall equally, and this
leaves the stucco imprinted; he then proceeds to clean and finish it so
that the work becomes true and even. But if he desire the work to have
bolder relief in projection, in the spot where this is to come he fixes
iron supports or nails or other armatures of a similar kind which hold
the stucco suspended in the air, and by these means the stucco sets
firmly, as one sees in the ancient edifices where the stucco and the
iron supports are found still preserved to the present day.[182]
Moreover, when the artificer wishes to produce a composition in
bas-relief on a flat wall, he first inserts numerous nails in the wall,
here projecting less, there more, according as the figures are to be
arranged, and between these he crowds in little bits of brick or tufa,
in order that the ends or heads of these may hold the coarse stucco of
the first rough cast, which he afterwards goes on refining delicately
and patiently till it consolidates. While it is hardening he works
diligently, retouching it continually with moistened paint-brushes in
such a manner as may bring it to perfection, just as if it were of wax
or clay. By means of this same arrangement of nails and of ironwork made
on purpose, larger and smaller according to need, vaults and partition
walls and old buildings are decorated with stucco, as one sees all over
Italy at the present day to be the habit of many masters who have given
themselves to this practice. Nor is one to suspect work so done of being
perishable; on the contrary it lasts for ever, and hardens so well as
time goes on, that it becomes like marble.

CHAPTER VII. (XIV.)

How Figures in Wood are executed and of what sort of Wood is best for
the purpose.

§ 73. _Wood Carving._

He who wishes figures of wood to be executed in a perfect manner, must
first make for them a model of wax or clay, as we have said. This sort
of figure is much used in the Christian religion, seeing that numberless
masters have produced many crucifixes and other objects. But in truth,
one never gives that flesh-like appearance and softness to wood that can
be given to metal and to marble and to the sculptured objects that we
see in stucco, wax, or clay. The best however of all the woods used for
sculpture is that of the lime, because it is equally porous on every
side, and it more readily obeys the rasp and chisel. But when the
artificer wishes to make a large figure, since he cannot make it all of
one single piece, he must join other pieces to it and add to its height
and enlarge it according to the form that he wishes to make. And to
stick it together in such a way that it may hold he must not take cheese
mucilage, because that would not hold, but parchment glue;[183] with
this melted and the said pieces warmed at the fire let him join and
press them together, not with iron nails but with pegs of the wood
itself; which done, let him work it and carve it according to the form
of his model. There are also most praiseworthy works in boxwood to be
seen done by workmen in this trade, and very beautiful ornaments in
walnut, which when they are of good black walnut almost appear to be of
bronze. We have also seen carvings on fruit stones, such as those of the
cherry and apricot executed by the hand of skilful Germans[184] with a
patience and delicacy which are great indeed. And although foreigners do
not achieve that perfect design which the Italians exhibit in their
productions, they have nevertheless wrought, and still continue to work,
in such a manner that they bring their art to a point of refinement that
makes the world wonder: as can be seen in a work, or to speak more
correctly, in a miracle of wood carving by the hand of the Frenchman,
Maestro Janni, who living in the city of Florence which he had chosen
for his country, adopted, for his designs, in which he always delighted,
the Italian style. This, with the practice he had in working in wood,
enabled him to make a figure in limewood of San Rocco as large as life.
With exquisite carving he fashioned the soft and undercut draperies that
clothe it, cut almost to the thinness of paper and with a beautiful flow
in the order of the folds, so that one cannot see anything more
marvellous. In like manner, he has carried out the head, beard, hands
and feet of that Saint with such perfection that it has deserved, and
always will deserve infinite praise from every man; and what is more, in
order that the excellence of the artist may be seen in all its parts,
the figure has been preserved to our days in the church of the
Annunziata at Florence beneath the pulpit, free from any covering of
colour or painting, in its own natural colour of wood and with only the
finish and perfection that Maestro Janni gave it, beautiful beyond all
other figures that can be seen carved in wood.[185] And this suffices
for a brief notice of all the things relating to sculpture. Let us now
pass on to painting.

[Illustration:

PLATE IX

STATUE OF S. ROCCO CARVED IN LIMEWOOD, by a French Artist ‘Maestro
Janni,’ in the Church of the Annunziata, Florence
]

NOTES ON ‘INTRODUCTION’ TO SCULPTURE

THE NATURE OF SCULPTURE.

[§ 36, _The Nature of Sculpture_, ante, p. 143.]

The remark with which Vasari opens his ‘Introduction’ to Sculpture,
though it sounds rather trite, involves a point of some interest. Vasari
says that the sculptor removes all that is superfluous from the material
under treatment, and reduces it to the form designed for it in his mind.
This is true of the technique of sculpture proper, that is stone or
marble carving, but there are processes in the art other than that of
cutting away a block of hard material. Michelangelo, in a letter he
wrote in 1549 to Benedetto Varchi, on the ever-recurring theme of the
relative dignity of painting and sculpture, notices the fact that the
sculptor proceeds in two ways, by the progressive reduction of a mass,
as is the case with the marble carver, or in his own words, ‘per forza
di levare’; and also by successive additions, as in modelling in clay or
wax, which he calls ‘per via di porre,’ ‘by the method of putting on.’
The distinction is one of fundamental importance for a right
understanding of the art, and upon it depends the characteristic
difference between Greek reliefs, which are almost all carved in marble,
and if not are beaten up on metal plates by the repoussé process, and
Italian reliefs that are very often in cast bronze, the models for which
have been prepared by modelling, ‘per via di porre,’ in wax. On this
point something will be found in the Note on ‘Italian and Greek
Reliefs,’ postea, p. 196 f.

With regard to sculpture effected ‘by taking away,’ ‘per forza di
levare,’ Michelangelo has left a famous utterance in one of his sonnets,
No. XV in the edition of Guasti, which opens as follows:—

‘Non ha l’ ottimo artista alcun concetto,
Ch’ un marmo solo in sè non circonscriva
Col suo soverchio; e solo a quello arriva
La man che ubbidisce all’ intelletto,’

and is thus translated by J. A. Symonds:—

‘The best of artists hath no thought to show
Which the rough stone in its superfluous shell
Doth not include. To break the marble spell
Is all the hand that serves the brain can do.’

The conceit is really a classical one, and is probably due to some Greek
writer used by Cicero in his tract _De Divinatione_. Some one had
testified to the fact that, in a certain marble quarry on Chios, a
block, casually split open, had disclosed a head of Pan; and Cicero, or
the writer he had before him, remarks that such a chance might occur,
though the similitude would only be a rude one. In any case however, he
goes on, it must be conceded that even the very finest heads imaginable
are really in existence throughout all time in every block of stone of
sufficient size. All that even a Praxiteles could do would be to bring
them into view by taking off all that was superfluous in the marble. He
would add nothing to what was there already. The whole process would be
the removal of what was superfluous and bringing to light what was
concealed within.

SCULPTURE TREATED FOR POSITION.

[§ 38, _Works of Sculpture should be treated with a view to their
destined Position_, ante, p. 145.]

Vasari is dealing with sculpturesque treatment as conditioned by the
position and lighting for which works of statuary are destined, and a
somewhat interesting question in the aesthetics of the plastic art is
opened up.

There are here two matters to be distinguished; one is the general
treatment of a figure or relief in relation to position, and the other
is the deliberate alteration in the proportions of it, with a view to
the same consideration. It is almost a matter of course that an artist,
in preparing his model, will keep in view the aspect under which the
finished work will be presented to the spectator, but the definite
change in proportions is another matter. Vasari is clear in his own mind
that Donatello and other sculptors did make changes of proportions as
well as of general treatment on the grounds indicated, but in alleging
this he is not drawing on his own expert knowledge as an artist, so much
as echoing a judgement of literary critics often expressed in both
ancient and modern times. There is a passage in Plato’s _Sophist_ which
shows that in Greek aesthetics this question was discussed, and a
distinction is there drawn, pp. 235–6, between exact imitation of
nature, and an imitation that modifies the forms of nature for artistic
effect. In large works, Plato points out, if the true proportions were
given ‘the upper part which is further off from the eye would appear to
be out of proportion in comparison with the lower, which is nearer; and
so our artists give up the truth in their images and make only the
proportions which appear to be beautiful disregarding the true ones.’
The same idea connected with a concrete instance is embodied in a legend
preserved in some verses by the Byzantine writer Tzetzes, to the effect
that Pheidias and Alcamenes competed on one occasion with rival figures
of the goddess Athene. Alcamenes finished his with great delicacy, and
on a near view it was preferred to that by Pheidias. The latter
sculptor, ‘being versed in optics and geometry,’ had allowed for
distance and exaggerated certain details. When both figures were put
into position the superiority of that by Pheidias was at once apparent.
It has been argued from a passage in Eustatius that Pheidias fashioned
his Zeus at Olympia with the head slightly inclined forwards, so as to
bring it more directly into view from the floor of the temple below.

In modern times Donatello’s works have been specially singled out as
illustrating this same principle, and not by Vasari alone. The
following, for instance, is an _obiter dictum_ of the Florentine writer
Davanzati in a letter affixed to his translation of Tacitus published
first in 1596, (see _Opere di Tacito_, Bern. Davanzati, Padova, 1755, p.
656), where he says, ‘You must look at the way an effect is introduced,
as in the case of Donatello and his famous Zuccone (Bald Head) on our
Campanile of the Duomo. The eyes of this statue as one looks at it on
high seem as if dug out with the spade, but if he had worked it on the
ground (for a near view) the figure would appear to be blind. The reason
is that distance swallows up all refinement of work (la lontananza si
mangia la diligenzia).... In the same way the rudeness of rustic work on
great palace walls does not take away from but rather adds to the effect
of majesty.’ Modern critics have agreed in commending Donatello for his
judicious treatment, with a view to situation, of works like the statues
on the Campanile, which are more than fifty feet above the ground. Hans
Semper praises specially from this standpoint the ‘Abraham and Isaac’ on
the Campanile, and remarks that if this group were taken down and seen
on the ground there would be a great outcry about faults of proportion
in the legs, (_Donatello_, Wien, 1875, p. 122.) In Lord Balcarres’s
recent book on Donatello there is a discussion of the Campanile statues,
and other works by the master, in relation to the same aesthetic
principle, (_Donatello_, London, 1903, p. 17 ff.)

There is no question that the boldness and vigour which were
characteristic of Donatello were well suited to give his works a telling
effect at a distance, and this may be noticed in the case of his
‘Cantoria’ with the dancing children in the Opera del Duomo at Florence.
We are reminded here of the Pheidias and Alcamenes story. On a near view
Donatello’s Cantoria suffers in a comparison with the more delicate work
on the same theme of Luca della Robbia, but when both galleries were ‘in
position,’ high up, and in the semi-darkness of the Duomo, the effect of
Donatello’s relief must have been far finer. This bold and sketchy
treatment was not due to the fact that the master could work in no other
way, for Donatello treated very low relief, spoken of later on by Vasari
as ‘stiacciato,’ with remarkable delicacy and finish. Hence we may
fairly credit him with intention in the strong effects of some of his
monumental works.

This is however quite a different matter from deliberate alteration of
the proportions of a figure in view of the position it is to occupy. In
spite of what Vasari and some modern writers have said, it must be
doubted whether Donatello or any other responsible sculptor has done
anything of the kind. Vasari speaks of figures ‘made a head or two
taller’ when they have to be seen in a near view from below, but he does
not refer to any examples. Decorative figures of elongated proportions
may be instanced, but it does not follow that these proportions were
intended to correct perspective foreshortening. The twelfth century
statues in the western portals at Chartres are curiously elongated, and
so too are the stucco nymphs of Primaticcio in the Escalier du Roi at
Fontainebleau, but in both cases the figures are but little above the
level of the eye, and their shape is certainly not due to any such
consideration as was in the mind of Vasari. The actual proportions of
Donatello’s Campanile statues seem perfectly normal, though the works
may have been deliberately treated with a view to position.

It is worth notice that, proportions apart, the principle of ‘treatment
for position’ has by no means been generally observed. In the greatest
and most prolific periods of sculpture indeed, there seems to have been
little consistency of practice in this regard, while some of the finest
decorative works in the world appear to have been very little affected
by any considerations of the kind. As in duty bound, Vasari appeals to
the antique, but as a matter of fact, classical decorative sculpture
exhibits only in a very minor degree these studied modifications of
treatment in relation to position. In the frieze of the Parthenon the
background is cut back a little deeper above than below, so as to
increase the apparent salience of the parts farthest from the eye, and
on the column of Marcus Aurelius at Rome, which may have been in
Vasari’s mind when he mentions reliefs on columns, the salience of the
relief is much bolder above than below. The well-known band of ornament
on the framing of Ghiberti’s ‘Old Testament’ gates shows similar variety
in treatment. On the earlier column of Trajan, on the other hand, the
eye can detect no variation in treatment of the kind. The groups from
the pediments of the Parthenon give little indication that they were
designed to be looked at sixty feet above the eye, while the heads by
Scopas from the pediments at Tegea are finished with the utmost
delicacy, as if for the closest inspection.

In the matter of the choice of low or high relief according to the
distance from the eye, the frieze of the Parthenon is often adduced as
canonical, because, being only visible from near, it is in very low
relief. It is forgotten however that the nearly contemporary friezes on
the Theseum and from the interior of the temple at Bassae, though they
were correspondingly placed and actually nearer to the eye, are both in
high relief. On the Roman triumphal arches, of which Vasari writes,
there are similar anomalies. Thus the well-known panels within the
passage way of the Arch of Titus, that must have been calculated for
very near stand-points, are in boldest projection.

The magnificent decorative sculpture on the French Gothic cathedrals
shows little trace of the sort of calculation here spoken of. It is true
that the figures of Kings in the ‘Galeries des Rois’ across the west
fronts are as a rule rudely carved, but this is because they are so
purely formal and give the artist little opportunity. At Reims some of
the finest and most finished work is to be found in the effigies of
Kings, the Angels, and other figures, on the upper stages of the
building, while the ‘Church Triumphant’ up above on the southern
transept façade is every whit as delicately beautiful as the ‘Mary of
the Visitation,’ in the western porch.

Enough has been said to show that on this subject literary statements
are not to be trusted and practice is very uncertain. It remains to be
seen what light can be thrown upon it, first, from the side of aesthetic
principle; and, second, from that of the actual procedure and expert
judgement of sculptors of to-day.

The principle will hardly be controverted that anything abnormal, either
in the proportions of a figure or even in its treatment, will tend to
defeat its own object by confusing our regular and highly effective
visual process. The organs which co-operate in this are so educated that
we interpret by an unconscious act of intelligence what we actually see,
and make due allowance for distance and position. It is often said that
objects look larger through a mist. This is not the case. They do not
look larger but they look further off, and the equation between apparent
size and apparent distance which we unconsciously establish is vitiated,
so that the impression is produced that the particular object is
abnormally large. Now in the same way we allow for the distance and the
perspective angle at which a work of sculpture is seen and interpret
accurately the actual forms and effects of texture and light and shade
the image of which falls on the retina. If the sculptor have altered his
proportions there is a danger that we shall derive the impression of a
distorted figure, because we have made our allowances on the supposition
that the proportions are normal. If he have forced the effect by
emphasizing the modelling, he will make the parts where this is done
appear too near the eye, and this will involve a false impression of the
height and dimensions of the structure on which the sculpture is
displayed. There is this forcing of effect in the case of the column of
Marcus Aurelius, but it is of no artistic advantage, and would tend to
make the column itself look lower than it really is. In the column of
Trajan the spiral lines have a certain artistic waviness, so that the
band of sculpture varies in width in different parts, but the treatment
is the same throughout, and as the reliefs were not only to be seen from
below but also from the lofty neighbouring structures of the Trajanic
Forum, this was not only in accordance with principle but with common
sense. It is obvious indeed that works of monumental sculpture are
practically always visible from other points than the one for which
their effect is chiefly calculated; and hence if proportions be modified
so as to suit one special standpoint, the work may look right in this
one aspect, but in all others may appear painfully distorted.

As regards the second point, we have asked Mr Pittendrigh Macgillivray,
R.S.A., a question on this subject, and he has kindly given us his
opinion in the following note.

‘The question as to whether or not sculptors deliberately alter the
normal proportions of the human figure in order to adapt their works to
special circumstances is one which is frequently asked, and which I have
never found reason to answer otherwise than in the negative. The rule in
the classic examples of all periods, as far as I have observed, is
normal proportion and execution, irrespective of site and circumstances,
and, to anyone familiar with the art and practice of sculpture, the
difficulties and uncertainties consequent upon a lawless method of
dealing with the normal quantities of the figure, are a sufficient
deterrent against vagaries in scale and proportion. To change the
proportions of the figure in order to meet the peculiarities and
limitations of some special site, seems on the surface so reasonable
that one is not greatly surprised at the persistence of the idea in
literary circles, where it has not been possible to balance it against
that technical knowledge which is the outcome of actual practice and
experience in handling the _métier_ of the art. To adapt statuary by
fanciful proportions to unfortunate conditions and circumstances, for
which truer artistic taste and understanding, on the part of architects,
would never propose it, seems such a ’cute notion that it has
occasionally attracted the clever ones of the profession as a way out of
the difficulty, but one which has led only to ultimate discomfiture.

‘The fact is, I imagine, that the normal proportions of the human figure
are so deeply printed on the inherited memory of the race that, except
within very narrow limitations, they cannot be modified and yet at the
same time convey lastingly any high order of serious emotion or effect.
The great men doing serious work in sculpture will never find it
necessary to go beyond the law of nature for the architectonic basis of
their expression. Faulty or arbitrary proportion in handling the human
figure is unnecessary; it is of no real help to the artist, and no more
desired by him than is the liberty of 16 lines and ballad measure, by
the sonneteer expert in the Petrarchan form and rhyme of 14 pentameter
verses. The real matter to be dealt with in respect of peculiarities of
site and circumstances lies within the sphere of the artistic capacity,
and is at once more easy and more difficult than any wooden process of
mis-handling the proportions of the figure. It is at issue in the legend
of the Byzantine writer, Tzetzes, to which reference is made, wherein it
is said that Pheidias and Alcamenes competed on one occasion with rival
figures of Athene, but the explanation given of the reason why the work
of Pheidias was admired and preferred at the site, is, I venture to say,
the wrong one, in as far as it presupposes abnormal proportions in the
successful statue. To the author’s mind, no doubt, something profound
and abstruse was necessary in order to explain such a triumph, and the
idea that Pheidias was deeply versed in what must then have been the
occult mysteries of optics and geometry, fitted the need and was
pleasant to the love of the marvellous.

‘In such a case, Pheidias would certainly, with the intuitive artistic
sense and experience of a master, handle the style, composition, lights
and shadows, mass, line and silhouette of his work in relation to its
size, and the average height and distance from which it was to be
viewed. It might be finished highly in respect of surface, or left
moderately rough, a condition of little consequence compared with the
factors enumerated above. It would be made readable and expressive, but
there would be no modification of the sacred proportions of the figure;
no trace of allowance in order that “the upper part which is further off
from the eye should appear to be in proportion when compared with the
lower, which is nearer.” That artists should appear to give up natural
truth in their images for considerations of abstract beauty, was
grateful to the mind of Plato, but is only another proof of the soaring
qualities of the White Horse in the Human Chariot!

‘Outside of a somewhat conscious effort towards the decorative in form
and towards the effective articulation of parts, I find little in the
work of Donatello to justify his being specially singled out as
illustrating those principles of the modification of true proportions
for sculpture in relation to the exigencies of site. The statues on the
Campanile need not, I imagine, be taken too seriously as exhibitions of
Donatello’s most careful judgement. Compared with such works of his as
we may feel at liberty to believe personal, they are rude and
ill-considered in design and execution. There is in the bones, mass, and
arrangement of the work very probably something of Donatello, but in the
detail and execution there is little or nothing of the hand that did the
Christ of S. Antonio of Padua, the bronze David of the Bargello, or the
bust of Niccolo da Uzzano.’

WAXEN EFFIGIES AND MEDALLIONS.

[§ 43, _Polychrome Wax Effigies_, ante, p. 149.]

Wax has been used from the time of the ancients as a modelling material,
both in connection with casting in bronze, and with the making of small
studies for reproduction in more permanent materials. The production of
a plastic work in wax intended to remain as the finished expression of
the artist’s idea is of course a different matter. Among the Greeks,
Lysistratos, the brother of Lysippos, about the time of Alexander the
Great, introduced the practice of taking plaster moulds from the life,
and then making casts from them in wax. These he may have coloured, for
the use of colour, at any rate on terra cotta, was at the time
universal, and in this way have produced waxen effigies. (Hominis autem
imaginem gypso e facie ipsa primus omnium expressit ceraque in eam
formam gypsi infusa emendare instituit Lysistratus Sicyonius frater
Lysippi. Plin. _Hist. Nat._, XXXV, 153). Busts in coloured wax of
departed ancestors were kept by the Romans of position in the atria of
their houses, and the funereal use of the wax effigy can be followed
from classical times to those comparatively modern, for in Westminster
Abbey can still be seen the waxen effigies of Queen Elizabeth, Charles
II, and other sovereigns and nobles of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. These, like the modern wax-works of popular exhibitions, are
hardly productions of art. What Vasari writes of is a highly refined and
artistic kind of work, that was practised in Italy from the early part
of the sixteenth century, and spread to France, Germany, and England in
each of which countries there were well-known executants in the
seventeenth or eighteenth centuries. _The Connoisseur_ of March, 1904,
contained an article on the chief of these.

Though modelled effigies in wax of a thoroughly artistic kind were
executed of or near the size of life and in the round, as may be seen in
the Italian waxen bust of a girl in the Musée Wicar at Lille, that has
been ascribed to Raphael, yet as a rule the execution was in miniature
and in relief. Specimens of this form of the work are to be seen in the
British Museum, in the Wallace Collection, and at South Kensington.

In the _Proceedings_ of the Huguenot Society of London, III, 4, there is
an article on the Gossets, a Huguenot family, some members of which
practised the art in England from the early part of the eighteenth
century, and a recipe for colouring the wax is there quoted which it may
be interesting to compare with that given by Vasari. ‘To two ounces of
flake white (the biacca of Vasari) add three of Venice turpentine, if it
be in summer, and four in winter, with sufficient vermilion (cinabrio)
to give it a pinkish tint. Grind these together on a stone with a
muller; then put them into a pound of fine white wax, such as is used
for making candles: this is molten ready in an earthen pipkin. Turn them
round over the fire for some time. When thoroughly mixed the composition
should be immediately removed and poured into dishes previously wetted
to prevent the wax from sticking to them.’

This refers to the preparation of a self-coloured wax which may be
prepared of a flesh tint, or of a creamy white, or of any other desired
hue like those Vasari enumerates. The portraits in wax referred to in
our museums are sometimes in self-coloured material of this kind, but at
other times are coloured polychromatically in all their details. This is
the technique referred to by Vasari in § 43 as having been introduced by
certain ‘modern masters.’ In _Opere_, IV, 436 he refers to one Pastorino
of Siena as having acquired great celebrity for wax portraits, and as
having ‘invented a composition which is capable of reproducing the hair,
beard and skin, in the most natural manner. It would take me too long’
he continues ‘to enumerate all the artists who model wax portraits, for
now-a-days there is scarcely a jeweller who does not occupy himself with
such work.’ This last remark is significant, for one feature of these
polychrome medallions is the introduction of real stones, seed pearls,
gold rings, and the like, in connection with the modelled wax, so that
collectors used to style the works ‘Italian sixteenth century jewelled
waxes.’ A portrait bust in the Salting collection, shown on loan at
South Kensington, representing Elizabeth of France, wife of Philip II,
is a good specimen of the technique. The lady wears a jewelled hair net
set with real red and green stones, and a necklet of seed pearls. In her
ear is a ring of thin gold wire. The flesh parts are naturally coloured,
the hair is auburn, the bodice black, and there are two white feathers
in the headdress. We should gather from Vasari’s words in § 43 that
works of the kind were built up of waxes variously coloured in the mass,
and a close examination of extant specimens clearly shows that this was
the case. Local tints such as the red of the lips, etc., were added with
pigment.

The best modern notice of wax modelling in these forms is that contained
in Propert’s _History of Miniature Art_, Lond. 1887, chapter xii, but
little is said there of the technique. It should be noticed that the
medallion in coloured wax as a form of art has been revived with
considerable success in our own time and country by the Misses Casella
and others. The artists just named consider that it would be impossible
to finish work on the usual small scale in coloured waxes alone, without
touches of pigment added with the brush. It would be interesting in this
connection to know what were the exact processes of painting in wax used
by the ancients. Paintings, which must have been on a small scale
because they were on a ground of ivory, were executed in coloured waxes
laid on by the ‘cestrum’ (Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XXXV, 147), which is
usually described as a sort of spatula, something like one of the steel
tools used by artists for finishing figures in plaster. However the
substance was applied, the whole process was apparently carried out in
the coloured waxes. There must have been some similarity between this
technique and that of the wax medallions of Renaissance and modern
times.

PROPORTIONATE ENLARGEMENT.

[§ 48, _Transference of the full-sized Model to the Marble Block_, ante,
p. 151.]

‘To enlarge the figure proportionately in the marble.’ Vasari has said,
ante, p. 150, that the model is to be the full size of the marble so
that there would be no question of enlargement but only of accurately
copying the form of the model in the new material. For this mechanical
aids are invoked, the latest and most elaborate of which is the
‘pointing machine’ now in common use. The appliances in Vasari’s time
were much simpler. Cellini, in his _Trattato sopra la Scultura_,
describes the mechanical arrangements he made for enlarging a model to
the size of a proposed colossal effigy, and the principle is the same
whether there is to be enlargement or exact reproduction.

The model, and a block roughly trimmed by rule of thumb to the size and
shape required, but of course somewhat larger than will ultimately be
needed, are placed side by side on tables of exactly the same form and
dimensions. About the model is set up a sort of framework simple or
elaborate, according to the character of the piece, and a framework
precisely similar in all respects is disposed about the block. A
measurement is then taken from one or more points on the framework to a
point on the model, and from a point or points similarly situated on the
other framework, and in the same relative direction, a similar
measurement is led towards the block. As this is _ex hypothesi_ a little
larger than the model, the full measurement cannot be taken until some
of the superfluous marble has been removed by suitable tools. When this
is done a point can be established on the block exactly corresponding to
the point already fixed on the model. This process can be repeated as
often as is necessary until all the important or salient points on the
model have been successively established on the marble block, which will
ultimately have approached so nearly to the exact similitude of the
model, that the artist can finish it by the eye.

The nature of what has been termed the framework, from which all the
measurements are taken, may vary. Cellini, on the occasion referred to,
surrounded his model with a sort of skeleton of a cubical box, from the
sides and corners of which he measured. In the _Encyclopédie_ of Diderot
and d’Alembert, of the middle of the eighteenth century, similar square
frames, like those used as stretchers for canvases, are suspended
horizontally over model and block, and plumb lines are hung from the
corners, so that skeleton cubes are established, which would answer the
same purpose as Cellini’s box. See Plate X, A. The arrangement
contemplated by Vasari was somewhat simpler. He does not establish a
complete hollow cube about his model and his block, but is apparently
satisfied with erecting perpendiculars beside each, from which the
measures would be led. The carpenter’s square (squadra) he has in mind
consists of two straight legs joined together at right angles. If one
leg be laid horizontally along the table the one at right angles to it
will be vertical, and from this the measurements are taken. In the
treatise on Sculpture by Leon Battista Alberti there is an elaborate
description of a device he invented for the purpose in view, and one of
his editors has illustrated this by a drawing reproduced here in Plate
X, B. The device explains itself, and any number of similar contrivances
could be employed.

THE USE OF FULL-SIZED MODELS.

[§ 49, _Danger of Dispensing with the Full-sized Model_, ante, p. 151.]

The question here is of the possibility of dispensing altogether with a
full-sized clay model, and proceeding at once to attack the marble with
the guidance only of the small original sketch. In modern times this is
practically never done, but it was the universal practice of the Greek
sculptors at any rate down to the later periods of Hellenic art. These
remarks of Vasari come just at the time of the change from the ancient
to the modern technique, for we shall see that Donatello in the
fifteenth century worked according to the simpler ancient method, while
Michelangelo in the sixteenth after beginning in the same fashion
finally settled down to the use of the full model, which has ever since
remained _de rigeur_.

[Illustration:

PLATE X

_B_

DIAGRAM to illustrate Alberti’s method of measurement

_A_

INTERIOR OF A SCULPTOR’S STUDIO IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

With illustrations of methods of measurement
]

[Illustration:

FIG. 11.—Two views of unfinished Greek marble statue blocked out on
the ancient system. In quarries on Mount Pentelicus, Athens.
]

The technique of the Greeks furnished the subject for an article by
Professor Ernest Gardner in the 14th volume of the _Journal of Hellenic
Studies_. He shows there by a comparison of unfinished works that the
Greek sculptors attacked the marble directly, and proceeded apparently
on the following method. Having obtained a block about the size and
shape required they set it up before them as if in a front view, and
then hewed away at the two sides till they had brought the contour of
these to the exact lines required for the finished work. They then
passed round through a right angle to the side, and treated in a similar
fashion the front and back of the block, bringing these to the shape of
the front and back of the desired figure. The block would then, when
looked at from the front or back or from the sides, present the required
outlines, but the section of it would still be square in every
part—there would be no rounding off. The sketches, Fig. 11, show two
views of a figure blocked out in this fashion by an ancient Attic
sculptor. It was found in old marble workings on Mount Pentelicus, and
is preserved at the modern marble quarry at the back of that mountain.
We owe the use of the photographs employed to the courtesy of M. Georges
Nicole, of Geneva. They were published in the volume entitled _Mélanges
Nicole_, Geneva, 1905, in connection with an article on the figure by
the archaeologist just named. The next process was to cut away these
corners and with the guidance of the already established contours
gradually bring the whole into the required shape. A small model may in
every case be presupposed and there must have been some system of
measurement. Indeed on some antiques, as on a crouching Venus in the
gallery leading to the Venus of Milo in the Louvre, there are still to
be seen the knobs (puntelli) to which measurements were taken during the
progress of the work. Of the use of full-sized clay models there is in
Greece no evidence at all, until the late period of the first century
B.C., when we are told of Pasiteles, a very painstaking sculptor of a
decadent epoch, that he never executed a work without first modelling it
(nihil unquam fecit antequam finxit). This no doubt implies a full-sized
model in clay, for a small sketch would not be mentioned as it is a
matter of course.

The practice of the Italians is described by Cellini in words which are
important enough to quote. They are from the fourth chapter of his
treatise on Sculpture. ‘Now although many excellent masters of assured
technique have boldly attacked the marble with their tools, as soon as
they had carved the little model to completion, yet at the end they have
found themselves but little satisfied with their work. For, to speak
only of the best of the moderns, Donatello adopted this method in his
works; and another example is Michelangelo, who had experience of both
the methods, that is to say, of carving statues alike from the small
model and the big, and at the end, convinced of their respective
advantages and disadvantages, adopted the second method (of the
full-sized model). And this I saw myself at Florence when he was working
in the sacristy of S. Lorenzo (on the Medici tombs).’ As regards
Michelangelo’s early practice, Vasari records in his Life that he carved
the colossal marble ‘David’ with the sole aid of a small wax model,
according to Vasari one of those now preserved in the Casa Buonarroti at
Florence. This was in 1504. The Medici tombs date twenty years later.

In connection with the direct practice of Donatello, it is worth while
referring to some words of Francesco Bocchi, a rhetorical eulogist of
the arts and artists of his native Florence, who wrote in 1571 a
literary effusion on the sculptor’s St. George. He notes in his
introduction that Donatello was accustomed to compose his marble figures
compactly and to avoid projecting hands and arms, while for his effigies
in bronze he used much greater freedom in action. The difference is
really one of material, and Donatello’s practice of working directly on
the marble would necessarily involve this restraint in composition.
Anyone accustomed to deal with marble blocks as vehicles of artistic
expression, would avoid unnecessary projections as these cause great
waste of material and expenditure of time. When plastering clay or wax
on a flexible armature this consideration is not present, and modelled
figures will naturally be freer in action than carved ones. As will
presently be seen, certain marked differences in the treatment of relief
sculpture depend on these same considerations of material and technique.

In direct work on the marble there is of course always the danger of the
sort of miscalculation that Vasari goes on to notice. Greek figures
sometimes show variations from correct proportions, for example, the
left thigh of the Venus of Milo is too short, but the errors are not
such as to destroy the effect of the works. Greek work in marble shows a
marvellously intimate knowledge on the part of the carver of his
material as well as a clear conception of what he was aiming at. Even
Michelangelo yields in this respect to the ancients, for though no one
was ever more thoroughly a master of the carver’s technique, he made
serious mistakes in calculating proportions, as in the ‘Slave’ of the
Louvre, where he has not left enough marble for the leg of the figure.
Moderns generally have not the ease which tradition and practice gave to
the Greek sculptors, and the full-sized model is now a necessary
precaution.

ITALIAN AND GREEK RELIEFS.

[§ 52, _Pictorial or Perspective Reliefs_, ante, p. 154.]

Vasari ascribes comprehensively to the ‘ancients’ the invention of the
pictorial or perspectively treated relief, which was not in use in
mediaeval times, but came into vogue in the early years of the fifteenth
century. The first conspicuous instance of its employment was in the
models by Ghiberti for the second set of gates for the Baptistry at
Florence begun in 1425, but as these gates were not finally completed
till 1452, other artists had in the meantime produced works in the same
style. Donatello’s bronze relief of the beheading of John the Baptist,
on the font at Sienna, was completed in 1427 and shows the same
treatment in a modified form. It is a treatment often called pictorial
as it aims at effects of distance, with receding planes and objects made
smaller according to their supposed distance from the foreground. The
style has been sufficiently criticized, and it is generally agreed that
it represents a defiance of the barriers fixed by the nature of things
between painting and sculpture. It depended mainly however not on the
influence of painting but on the study of perspective, which
Brunelleschi brought into vogue somewhere about the year 1420.
Brunelleschi’s perspectives, or those which he inspired, were worked out
in inlaid woods, or tarsia work, see postea, p. 303 f., and exhibited
elaborate architectural compositions crowded with receding lines. These
compositions were adopted by Donatello and others for the backgrounds of
their figure reliefs, and Ghiberti filled his nearer planes with a crowd
of figures represented as Vasari describes according to the laws of
linear, and so far as the material permitted, of aerial perspective.

The question of the amount of warrant for this in antique practice as a
whole calls attention to an interesting moment in the general history of
relief sculpture. This has been dealt with recently by Franz Wickhoff,
in the Essay contributed by him to the publication of the Vienna
‘Genesis,’ and issued in an English translation by Mrs Strong under the
title _Roman Art_ (London, 1900), and also in Mrs Strong’s own _Roman
Sculpture_ (London, Duckworth, 1907). The tendency to multiply planes in
relief, and to introduce the perspective effects and the backgrounds of
a picture, shows itself in some of the late Greek or ‘Hellenistic’
reliefs, published by Schreiber under the title _Die Hellenistischen
Reliefbilder_ (Wien, 1889 etc.), and more especially in the smaller
frieze from the altar base at Pergamon. Etruscan relief sculpture is
also affected by it. It is however in Roman work of the early imperial
period that we actually find the antique prototypes for the kind of work
that Vasari has in his mind. The reliefs on the tomb of the Julii at St
Rémy, of the age of Augustus, those on the Arch of Titus, and most
conspicuously the decorative sculpture connected with the name of
Trajan, are instances in point. They show differences in plane, and
occasionally a distinct effort after perspective effects, and it is
possible that the study of some of these Roman examples by Brunelleschi
and Donatello at the opening of the fifteenth century may have
contributed to the formation of the picturesque tradition in Florentine
relief sculpture of the period. This style was however by no means
universal in Roman work. The carved sarcophagi are not much influenced
by it, and these sarcophagi are of special importance in the later
history of sculpture, in that they were the models used by Nicola Pisano
and the other French and Italian sculptors of the so-called
‘proto-Renaissance’ of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In relation
to antique sculpture as a whole the pictorial style is quite abnormal.
The genius of the classical Greek relief is indeed totally opposed to
that of the Italian reliefs represented centrally by those of Ghiberti.
The difference is fundamentally one of material and technique. It is the
same distinction that was drawn by Michelangelo in his letter to
Benedetto Varchi, and noticed already in the Note on ‘The Nature of
Sculpture,’ ante, p. 179, the distinction, that is, between sculpture
that proceeds by additions, ‘per via di porre,’ and that which advances
by taking material away, ‘per forza di levare.’ The normal Italian
relief was in cast bronze and was necessarily modelled work. The
classical relief was in marble and was essentially carved work, for the
diversifying of a flat surface. When the Greek relief was in baked clay
it was generally stamped from moulds and not modelled up by hand. The
cast bronze relief in classical Greece may be said only to have existed
in the form of small plaques for the decoration of vases or other
objects in metal. The normal bronze relief in the ancient world was
beaten up in sheet metal by the repoussé process.

In the case alike of the relief carved on the marble slab, or stamped in
clay from moulds, or beaten up in the sheet of metal, the nature of the
technique renders flatness of effect almost obligatory. The Greek
decorative relief cut ‘per forza di levare’ in a smooth marble slab,
that is most often one of the constructive stones of an edifice,
naturally sacrifices as little of the material as is possible, and in
all Greek reliefs, whether low or high, as much as possible of the work
is kept to the foremost plane, the original surface of the stone. Again,
a mould that is undercut, or at all deeply recessed, cannot be used for
stamping clay, while the difficulty of relief work in sheet metal is
greatly increased in proportion to the amount of salience of the forms.
Hence the general flatness of the antique relief, observable even on the
late Roman sarcophagi which served as models at the first revival of
Italian sculpture. Whether the field of the relief is open or crowded,
the objects all come together to the front.

How different are the conditions when the relief is modelled up by hand
in clay or wax! Here the starting point is the background, not as in the
carved relief the foreground, and the forms, worked ‘per via di porre,’
can be made to stand out against this with an ease and effectiveness
which tempt the modeller to try all sorts of varieties of relief in the
same composition or the same figure, and to multiply planes of distance
till the objects on the foremost plane are starting out clear of the
ground. There is direct evidence (see ante, p. 194) that in the first
century B.C. the use of clay modelling as a preliminary process in
sculpture was greatly extended, and Roman pictorial reliefs may
themselves have been influenced from this side. There is no question at
any rate that the Italians of the Renaissance surrendered themselves
without hesitation to the fascination of this kind of work, and the
style of it dominates their later reliefs. The contrast in this respect
between Ghiberti’s second, or Old Testament, Gates, and his earlier ones
which adhered to the simpler style of Andrea Pisano’s reliefs on the
first of the three Baptistry Gates, is most instructive. Andrea’s
reliefs are in character mediaeval, and the nearest parallel to them are
the storied quatrefoils on the basement of the western portals at
Amiens. It is worthy of notice how classical these are in style, and
this is due to the fact that like Greek reliefs, such as the frieze of
the Parthenon, they were cut in the constructive stones of the edifice
_in situ_, and are in true stone technique.

This contrast of Greek and Italian reliefs furnishes a most conspicuous
object lesson on the importance of material and technique in
conditioning artistic practice. As was pointed out in the Introductory
Essay, these considerations have not in the past been sufficiently
emphasized in the scheme of education in design recognized in our
Schools of Art, though in several quarters now there is a promise of
better things.

THE PROCESSES OF THE BRONZE FOUNDER.

[§§ 55–69, ante, p. 158 ff.]

Vasari’s account of the processes attendant on casting in bronze is
intelligible and interesting, though he had himself little practical
acquaintance with the craft. Benvenuto Cellini on the other hand was an
expert bronze founder and the account he gives of the necessary
operations in the first three chapters of his treatise on Sculpture is
extremely graphic and detailed, and may be usefully employed to amplify
and explain Vasari’s notice. An expert knowledge of the founder’s craft
was not by any means universal among the Italian sculptors of the
Renaissance. Donatello did not possess it, nor did Michelangelo. In the
case of the former this is somewhat remarkable, for Donatello was such a
vigorous craftsman that we should have expected to find him revelling in
all the technical minutiae of the foundry. We are expressly told however
by Pomponius Gauricus that Donatello lacked this knowledge, and never
cast his own works but always relied on the help of bell founders (Hans
Semper, _Donatello_, Wien, 1875, p. 317). Michelozzo on the other hand,
who worked with Donatello, could cast, and so could Ghiberti, A.
Pollaiuolo, and Verrocchio, while Alessandro Leopardi of Venice, who
cast Verrocchio’s Colleoni statue, was famed for his practical skill in
this department. It was customary, when expert help in casting was
required, to enlist the services of bell founders and makers of cannon,
but Cellini warns sculptors against trusting too much to these mere
mechanicians who lacked ingenuity and resource.

The following general sketch of the processes of casting will render
Vasari’s account more easy to follow. A successful cast in bronze
consists in a thin shell of the metal, representing on the exterior the
exact form of the model, or the complete design in the artist’s mind.
The best way to procure this is to provide first a similar shell,
perfect on its exterior surface, of wax, and then to melt away the wax
and replace it by molten bronze. For this to be possible the shell of
wax must be closely sealed between an outer envelope and an inner
packing or core. It can then be got rid of by melting, but care must
have been taken lest the core when it loses the support of the wax
should shift its position in relation to the envelope. To prevent this,
metal rods are run, skewer-fashion, through core and envelope to retain
them firmly in their relative positions. Molten bronze may then be
introduced into the space formerly occupied by the wax, and this, when
it is cold, and the envelope and core are both removed, will be the cast
required.

Attention has to be paid to secure that there shall be no moisture and
no remnant of wax in the parts where the molten bronze is to come,
otherwise steam may be generated and a dangerous explosion follow.
Similarly, air holes or vents must be provided, so that the air may
escape before the flowing metal. The cast when cold should,
theoretically, give a perfect result, but as a matter of fact, unless
very accomplished skill or great good fortune have presided over the
operations, the metal will be blistered or seamed or flawed in parts,
and these imperfections will have to be remedied by processes which come
under the head of chasing, and are described by Vasari at the close of
the chapter.

A direct and ingenious method of procuring the needful shell of wax is
that described by Vasari in § 67 as suitable for small figures and
reliefs. Over the model for such a small figure an envelope is formed,
in the shape of a hollow mould of fire-resisting material, so
constructed that it can be taken to pieces, the model extracted, and the
mould closed up again. The mould must now be cooled with cold water and
it is then filled with melted wax. Contact with the cold sides of the
mould chills the wax, which hardens all over in a sort of crust or skin.
The rest of the wax, still liquid, is then poured out and the skin or
crust suffered to harden. The interior is then filled with clay of a
kind that will stand heat. Rods or skewers are passed through this and
the envelope, the wax is melted out and its place taken by the molten
bronze.

This process, one of course only suitable for small objects, presupposes
the existence of a completely finished model to be exactly reproduced in
the metal. The simplest of all processes of bronze casting dispenses
with this model. Vasari does not describe this simplest method but
Cellini, who employed it both for his ‘Nymph of Fontainebleau’ and his
‘Perseus,’ gives an account of it which is worth summarizing because the
process is probably the one adopted in most cases by the old Greek
masters.

Cellini tells us that in making his large lunette-shaped relief of the
‘Nymph of Fontainebleau,’ now in the Louvre, he began by modelling up
the piece in fire-resisting clay, of course over a proper armature or
skeleton. He worked it out to full size and then let it dry till it had
shrunk about a finger’s breadth. He then covered it with a coating of
wax of rather less than this thickness, which he modelled with the
utmost care, finishing it in every detail so that it expressed to the
full his own idea for the finished work. This was then carefully covered
in successive layers with an envelope of fire-resisting material, which
would be properly tied by transverse rods to the core, and braced on the
exterior by an armature. The wax was then melted out, and the core and
envelope thoroughly dried, when the molten bronze was poured in so as to
reproduce the wax in every detail.

It is obvious that this is not only the most direct but the most
artistic method of work. The wax forms a complete unbroken surface and
receives and retains the exact impression in every detail of the
master’s hand. If the cast be thoroughly successful, the bronze will
reproduce the surface of the wax so perfectly that no further work upon
it will be needed, and an ‘untouched cast’ will be the result. This
method would suit the genius of the Greeks, and was no doubt commonly
employed by them, but it has the practical drawback that if anything go
wrong, and the bronze do not flow properly, the whole work is spoilt,
and will have to be built up again _de novo_ from the small study.
Cellini tells us that his ‘Perseus,’ which he was casting in this
fashion, nearly came to grief from the cause just indicated, and he
accordingly recommends what he calls the second method, a longer and
less direct process, which has however the advantage that a full-sized
completed model is all the time preserved.

This process is the one described by Vasari. A full-sized clay model is
prepared and finished, and this is then covered with a plaster envelope
made in numerous sections, so that it can be taken to pieces and put
together again without the model, which may be preserved for further
use. The next step is to line the inside of the empty envelope, or
piece-mould, as it is called, with wax, and to fill up all the rest of
the interior with a core. The piece-mould is then removed, and the
surface of the wax is carefully gone over to secure that it shall be
perfect in every part. Over it is then laid in successive coats a
fire-resisting envelope between which and the core the wax is
hermetically sealed. The wax can then be melted out and replaced with
bronze. The piece-mould, which has been detached section by section from
the wax, will serve again for other reproductions. The processes in
which wax is employed are called _cire perdue_ processes, because the
wax is got rid of in order to be replaced by the metal. The usual
process in vogue at the present day dispenses with any employment of
wax. The figure to be cast is piece-moulded and reproduced in a suitable
material, a certain thickness of which is in every part pared away
according to the thickness required for the bronze. This core is then
replaced with proper adjustments within a fireproof mould, and the
bronze is poured into the space prepared for it.

OF PAINTING

CHAPTER I. (XV.)

What Design is, and how good Pictures are made and known, and
concerning the invention of Compositions.

§ 74. _The Nature and Materials of Design or Drawing._[186]

Seeing that Design, the parent of our three arts, Architecture,
Sculpture, and Painting, having its origin in the intellect, draws out
from many single things a general judgement, it is like a form or idea
of all the objects in nature, most marvellous in what it compasses, for
not only in the bodies of men and of animals but also in plants, in
buildings, in sculpture and in painting, design is cognizant of the
proportion of the whole to the parts and of the parts to each other and
to the whole. Seeing too that from this knowledge there arises a certain
conception and judgement, so that there is formed in the mind that
something which afterwards, when expressed by the hands, is called
design, we may conclude that design is not other than a visible
expression and declaration of our inner conception and of that which
others have imagined and given form to in their idea. And from this,
perhaps, arose the proverb among the ancients ‘ex ungue leonem’ when a
certain clever person, seeing carved in a stone block the claw only of a
lion, apprehended in his mind from its size and form all the parts of
the animal and then the whole together, just as if he had had it present
before his eyes. Some believe that accident was the father of design and
of the arts, and that use and experience as foster-mother and
schoolmaster, nourished it with the help of knowledge and of reasoning,
but I think that, with more truth, accident may be said rather to have
given the occasion for design, than to be its father.

But let this be as it may, what design needs, when it has derived from
the judgement the mental image of anything, is that the hand, through
the study and practice of many years, may be free and apt to draw and to
express correctly, with the pen, the silver-point, the charcoal, the
chalk, or other instrument, whatever nature has created. For when the
intellect puts forth refined and judicious conceptions, the hand which
has practised design for many years, exhibits the perfection and
excellence of the arts as well as the knowledge of the artist. And
seeing that there are certain sculptors who have not much practice in
strokes and outlines, and consequently cannot draw on paper, these work
instead in clay or wax, fashioning men, animals, and other things in
relief, with beautiful proportion and balance. Thus they effect the same
thing as does he who draws well on paper or other flat surface.

The masters who practise these arts have named or distinguished the
various kinds of design according to the description of the drawing
which they make. Those which are touched lightly and just indicated with
the pen or other instrument are called sketches, as shall be explained
in another place. Those, again, that have the first lines encircling an
object are called profiles or outlines.

§ 75. _Use of Design (or Drawing) in the Various Arts._

All these, whether we call them profiles or otherwise, are as useful to
architecture and sculpture as to painting. Their chief use indeed is in
Architecture, because its designs are composed only of lines, which so
far as the architect is concerned, are nothing else than the beginning
and the end of his art, for all the rest, which is carried out with the
aid of models of wood formed from the said lines, is merely the work of
carvers and masons.[187]

In Sculpture, drawing is of service in the case of all the profiles,
because in going round from view to view the sculptor uses it when he
wishes to delineate the forms which please him best, or which he intends
to bring out in every dimension, whether in wax, or clay, or marble, or
wood, or other material.

In Painting, the lines are of service in many ways, but especially in
outlining every figure, because when they are well drawn, and made
correct and in proportion, the shadows and lights that are then added
give the strongest relief to the lines of the figure and the result is
all excellence and perfection. Hence it happens, that whoever
understands and manages these lines well, will, with the help of
practice and judgement, excel in each one of these arts. Therefore, he
who would learn thoroughly to express in drawing the conceptions of the
mind and anything else that pleases him, must after he has in some
degree trained his hand to make it more skilful in the arts, exercise it
in copying figures in relief either in marble or stone, or else plaster
casts taken from the life, or from some beautiful antique statue, or
even from models in relief of clay, which may either be nude or clad in
rags covered with clay to serve for clothing and drapery. All these
objects being motionless and without feeling, greatly facilitate the
work of the artist, because they stand still, which does not happen in
the case of live things that have movement. When he has trained his hand
by steady practice in drawing such objects, let him begin to copy from
nature and make a good and certain practice herein, with all possible
labour and diligence, for the things studied from nature are really
those which do honour to him who strives to master them, since they have
in themselves, besides a certain grace and liveliness, that simple and
easy sweetness which is nature’s own, and which can only be learned
perfectly from her, and never to a sufficient degree from the things of
art. Hold it moreover for certain, that the practice that is acquired by
many years of study in drawing, as has been said above, is the true
light of design and that which makes men really proficient. Now, having
discoursed long enough on this subject let us go on to see what painting
is.

§ 76. _Of the Nature of Painting._

A painting, then, is a plane covered with patches of colour on the
surface of wood, wall, or canvas filling up the outlines spoken of
above, which, by virtue of a good design of encompassing lines, surround
the figure.[188] If the painter treat his flat surface with right
judgement, keeping the centre light and the edges and the background
dark and medium colour between the light and dark in the intermediate
spaces, the result of the combination of these three fields of colour
will be that everything between the one outline and the other stands out
and appears round and in relief. It is indeed true that these three
shades cannot suffice for every object treated in detail, therefore it
is necessary to divide every shade at least into two half shades, making
of the light two half tints, and of the dark two lighter, and of the
medium two other half tints which incline one to the lighter and the
other to the darker side. When these tints, being of one colour only
whatever it may be, are gradated, we see a transition beginning with the
light, and then the less light, and then a little darker, so that little
by little we find the pure black. Having then made the mixtures, that
is, these colours mixed together, and wishing to work with oil or
tempera or in fresco, we proceed to fill in the outlines putting in
their proper place the lights and darks, the half tints and the lowered
tones of the half tints and the lights. I mean those tints mixed from
the three first, light, medium and dark, which lights and medium tints
and darks and lower tones are copied from the cartoon or other design
which is made for any work before we begin to put it into execution. It
is necessary that the design be carried out with good arrangement, firm
drawing, and judgement and invention, seeing that the composition in a
picture is not other than the parcelling out of the places where the
figures come, so that the spaces be not unshapely but in accordance with
the judgement of the eye, while the field is in one place well covered
and in another void. All this is the result of drawing and of having
copied figures from the life, or from models of figures made to
represent anything one wishes to make. Design cannot have a good origin
if it have not come from continual practice in copying natural objects,
and from the study of pictures by excellent masters and of ancient
statues in relief, as has been said many times. But above all, the best
thing is to draw men and women from the nude and thus fix in the memory
by constant exercise the muscles of the torso, back, legs, arms, and
knees, with the bones underneath. Then one may be sure that through much
study attitudes in any position can be drawn by help of the imagination
without one’s having the living forms in view. Again having seen human
bodies dissected one knows how the bones lie, and the muscles and
sinews, and all the order and conditions of anatomy, so that it is
possible with greater security and more correctness to place the limbs
and arrange the muscles of the body in the figures we draw. And those
who have this knowledge will certainly draw the outlines of the figures
perfectly, and these, when drawn as they ought to be, show a pleasing
grace and beautiful style.

He who studies good painting and sculpture, and at the same time sees
and understands the life, must necessarily have acquired a good method
in art. Hence springs the invention which groups figures in fours,
sixes, tens, twenties, in such a manner as to represent battles and
other great subjects of art. This invention demands an innate propriety
springing out of harmony and obedience; thus if a figure move to greet
another, the figure saluted having to respond should not turn away. As
with this example, so it is with all the rest. The subject may offer
many varied motives different one from another, but the motives chosen
must always bear relation to the work in hand, and to what the artist is
in process of representing. He ought to distinguish between different
movements and characteristics, making the women with a sweet and
beautiful air and also the youths, but the old always grave of aspect,
and especially the priests and persons in authority. He must always take
care however, that everything is in relation to the work as a whole; so
that when the picture is looked at, one can recognize in it a harmonious
unity, wherein the passions strike terror, and the pleasing effects shed
sweetness, representing directly the intention of the painter, and not
the things he had no thought of. It is requisite therefore, for this
purpose, that he form the figures which have to be spirited with
movement and vigour, and that he make those which are distant to retire
from the principal figures by means of shade and colour that gradually
and softly become lower in tone. Thus the art will always be associated
with the grace of naturalness and of delicate charm of colour, and the
work be brought to perfection not with the stress of cruel suffering, so
that men who look at it have to endure pain on account of the suffering
which they see has been borne by the artist in his work, but rather with
rejoicing at his good fortune in that his hand has received from heaven
the lightness of movement which shows his painting to be worked out with
study and toil certainly, but not with drudgery; so will it be that the
figures, every one in its place, will not appear dead to him who
observes them, but alive and true. Let painters avoid crudities, let it
be their endeavour that the things they are always producing shall not
seem painted, but show themselves alive and starting out of the canvas.
This is the secret of sound design and the true method recognized by him
who has painted as belonging to the pictures that are known and judged
to be good.

CHAPTER II. (XVI.)

Of Sketches, Drawings, Cartoons, and Schemes of Perspective; how they
are made, and to what use they are put by the Painters.

§ 77. _Sketches, Drawings, and Cartoons of different kinds._

Sketches, of which mention has been made above, are in artists’ language
a sort of first drawing made to find out the manner of the pose, and the
first composition of the work. They are made in the form of a blotch,
and are put down by us only as a rough draft of the whole. Out of the
artist’s impetuous mood they are hastily thrown off, with pen or other
drawing instrument or with charcoal, only to test the spirit of that
which occurs to him, and for this reason we call them sketches. From
these come afterwards the drawings executed in a more finished manner,
in the doing of which the artist tries with all possible diligence to
copy from the life, if he do not feel himself strong enough to be able
to produce them from his own knowledge. Later on, having measured them
with the compasses or by the eye, he enlarges from the small to a larger
size according to the work in hand. Drawings are made in various
materials,[189] that is, either with red chalk, which is a stone coming
from the mountains of Germany, soft enough to be easily sawn and reduced
to a fine point suitable for marking on leaves of paper in any way you
wish; or with black chalk that comes from the hills of France, which is
of the same nature as the red. Other drawings in light and shade are
executed on tinted paper which gives a middle shade; the pen marks the
outlines, that is, the contour or profile, and afterwards half-tone or
shadow is given with ink mixed with a little water which produces a
delicate tint: further, with a fine brush dipped in white lead mixed
with gum, the high lights are added. This method is very pictorial, and
best shows the scheme of colouring. Many work with the pen alone,
leaving the paper for the lights, which is difficult but in effect most
masterly; and innumerable other methods are practised in drawing, of
which it is not needful to make mention, because all represent the same
thing, that is drawing.

The designs having been made in this way, the artist who wishes to work
in fresco, that is, on the wall, must make cartoons; many indeed prepare
them even for working on panel. The cartoons are made thus: sheets of
paper, I mean square sheets, are fastened together with paste made of
flour and water cooked on the fire. They are attached to the wall by
this paste, which is spread two fingers’ breadth all round on the side
next the wall, and are damped all over by sprinkling cold water on them.
In this moist state they are stretched so that the creases are smoothed
out in the drying. Then when they are dry the artist proceeds, with a
long rod, having a piece of charcoal at the end, to transfer to the
cartoon (in enlarged proportions), to be judged of at a distance, all
that in the small drawing is shown on the small scale. In this manner
little by little he finishes, now one figure and now another. At this
point the painters go through all the processes of their art in
reproducing their nudes from the life, and the drapery from nature, and
they draw the perspectives in the same schemes that have been adopted on
a small scale in the first drawing, enlarging them in proportion.

If in these there should be perspective views, or buildings, these are
enlarged with the net, which is a lattice of small squares that are made
large on the cartoon, reproducing everything correctly, for of course
when the artist has drawn out the perspectives in the small designs,
taking them from the plan and setting up the elevations with the right
contours, and making the lines diminish and recede by means of the
intersections and the vanishing point, he must reproduce them in
proportion on the cartoon. But I do not wish to speak further of the
mode of drawing these out, because it is a wearisome theme and difficult
to explain. It is enough to say that perspectives are beautiful in so
far as they appear correct when looked at, and diminish as they retire
from the eye, and when they are composed of a varied and beautiful
scheme of buildings. The painter must take care too, to make them
diminish in proportion by means of delicate gradations of colour that
presuppose in the artist correct discretion and good judgement.[190] The
need of this is shown in the difficulty of the many confused lines
gathered from the plan, the profile, and the intersection; but when
covered with colour everything becomes clear, and in consequence the
artist gains a reputation for skill and understanding and ingenuity in
his art.

Many masters also before making the composition on the cartoon, adopt
the plan of fashioning a model in clay on a plane and of setting up all
the figures in the round to see the projections,[191] that is, the
shadows caused by a light being thrown on to the figures, which
projections correspond to the shadow cast by the sun, that more sharply
than any artificial light defines the figures by shade on the ground;
and so portraying the whole of the work, they have marked the shadows
that strike across now one figure, now another, whence it comes that on
account of the pains taken the cartoons as well as the work reach the
most finished perfection and strength, and stand out from the paper in
relief. All this shows the whole to be most beautiful and highly
finished.

§ 78. _The Use of Cartoons in Mural and Panel Painting._

When these cartoons are used for fresco or wall painting, every day at
the junction with yesterday’s work a piece of the cartoon is cut off and
traced on the wall, which must be plastered afresh and perfectly
smoothed.[192] This piece of cartoon is put on the spot where the figure
is to be, and is marked; so that next day, when another piece comes to
be added, its exact place may be recognized, and no error can arise.
Afterwards, for transferring the outlines on to the said piece, the
artist proceeds to impress them with an iron stylus upon the coat of
plaster, which, being fresh, yields to the paper and thus remains
marked. He then removes the cartoon and by means of those marks traced
on the wall goes on to work with colours; this then is how work in
fresco or on the wall is carried out. The same tracing is done on panels
and on canvas, but in this case the cartoon is all in one piece, the
only difference being that it is necessary to rub the back of the
cartoon with charcoal or black powder, so that when marked afterwards
with the instrument it may transmit the outlines and tracings to the
canvas or panel. The cartoons are made in order to secure that the work
shall be carried out exactly and in due proportion. There are many
painters who for work in oil will omit all this; but for fresco work it
must be done and cannot be avoided. Certainly the man who found out such
an invention had a good notion, since in the cartoons one sees the
effect of the work as a whole and these can be adjusted and altered
until they are right, which cannot be done on the work itself.

CHAPTER III. (XVII.)

Of the Foreshortening of Figures looked at from beneath, and of those
on the Level.

§ 79. _Foreshortenings._

Our artists have had the greatest skill in foreshortening figures, that
is, in making them appear larger than they really are; a foreshortening
being to us a thing drawn in shortened view, which seeming to the eye to
project forward has not the length or height that it appears to have;
however, the mass, outlines, shadows, and lights make it seem to come
forward and for this reason it is called foreshortened. Never was there
painter or draughtsman that did better work of this sort than our
Michelagnolo Buonarroti,[193] and even yet no one has been able to
surpass him, he has made his figures stand out so marvellously. For this
work he first made models in clay or wax, and from these, because they
remain stationary, he took the outlines, the lights, and the shadows,
rather than from the living model. These foreshortenings give the
greatest trouble to him who does not understand them because his
intelligence does not help him to reach the depth of such a difficulty,
to overcome which is a more formidable task than any other in painting.
Certainly our old painters, as lovers of the art, found the solution of
the difficulty by using lines in perspective, a thing never done before,
and made therein so much progress that to-day there is true mastery in
the execution of foreshortenings. Those who censure the method of
foreshortening, I speak of our artists, are those who do not know how to
employ it; and for the sake of exalting themselves go on lowering
others. We have however a considerable number of master painters who,
although skilful, do not take pleasure in making foreshortened figures,
and yet when they see how beautiful they are and how difficult, they not
only do not censure but praise them highly. Of these foreshortenings the
moderns have given us some examples which are to the point and difficult
enough, as for instance in a vault the figures which look upwards, are
foreshortened and retire. We call these foreshortenings ‘al di sotto in
su’ (in the ‘up from below’ style), and they have such force that they
pierce the vaults. These cannot be executed without study from the life,
or from models at suitable heights, else the attitudes and movements of
such things cannot be caught. And certainly the difficulty in this kind
of work calls forth the highest grace as well as great beauty, and
results in something stupendous in art. You will find, in the Lives of
our Artists, that they have given very great salience to works of this
kind, and laboured to complete them perfectly, whence they have obtained
great praise. The foreshortenings from beneath upwards (di sotto in su)
are so named because the object represented is elevated and looked at by
the eye raised upwards, and is not on the level line of the horizon:
wherefore because one must raise the head in the wish to see them, and
perceives first the soles of the feet and the other lower parts we find
the said name justly chosen.[194]

CHAPTER IV. (XVIII.)

How Colours in oil painting, in fresco, or in tempera should be
blended: and how the Flesh, the Draperies and all that is depicted
come to be harmonized in the work in such a manner that the figures
do not appear cut up, and stand out well and forcibly and show the
work to be clear and comprehensible.

§ 80. _On Colouring._

Unity in painting is produced when a variety of different colours are
harmonized together, these colours in all the diversity of many designs
show the parts of the figures distinct the one from the other, as the
flesh from the hair, and one garment different in colour from another.
When these colours are laid on flashing and vivid in a disagreeable
discordance so that they are like stains and loaded with body, as was
formerly the wont with some painters, the design becomes marred in such
a manner that the figures are left painted by the patches of colour
rather than by the brush, which distributes the light and shade over the
figures and makes them appear natural and in relief. All pictures then
whether in oil, in fresco, or in tempera ought to be so blended in their
colours that the principal figures in the groups are brought out with
the utmost clearness, the draperies of those in front being kept so
light that the figures which stand behind are darker than the first, and
so little by little as the figures retire inwards, they become also in
equal measure gradually lower in tone in the colour both of the flesh
tints and of the vestments. And especially let there be great care
always in putting the most attractive, the most charming, and the most
beautiful colours on the principal figures, and above all on those that
are complete and not cut off by others, because these are always the
most conspicuous and are more looked at than others which serve as the
background to the colouring of the former. A sallow colour makes another
which is placed beside it appear the more lively, and melancholy and
pallid colours make those near them very cheerful and almost of a
certain flaming beauty.[195] Nor ought one to clothe the nude with heavy
colours that would make too sharp a division between the flesh and the
draperies when the said draperies pass across the nude figures, but let
the colours of the lights of the drapery be delicate and similar to the
tints of the flesh, either yellowish or reddish, violet or purple,
making the depths either green or blue or purple or yellow, provided
that they tend to a dark shade and make a harmonious sequence in the
rounding of the figures with their shadows; just as we see in the life,
that those parts that appear nearest to our eyes, have most light and
the others, retiring from view, lose light and colour.

In the same manner the colours should be employed with so much harmony
that a dark and a light are not left unpleasantly contrasted in light
and shade, so as to create a discordance and a disagreeable lack of
unity, save only in the case of the projections, which are those shadows
that the figures throw one on to the other, when a ray of light strikes
on a principal figure, and makes it darken the second with its projected
shadow. And these again when they occur must be painted with sweetness
and harmony, because he who throws them into disorder makes that picture
look like a coloured carpet or a handful of playing cards, rather than
blended flesh or soft clothing or other things that are light, delicate,
and sweet. For as the ear remains offended by a strain of music that is
noisy, jarring or hard—save however in certain places and times, as I
said of the strong shadows—so the eye is offended by colours that are
overcharged or crude. As the too fiery mars the design; so the dim,
sallow, flat, and over-delicate makes a thing appear quenched, old, and
smoke-dried; but the concord that is established between the fiery and
the flat tone is perfect and delights the eye just as harmonious and
subtle music delights the ear. Certain parts of the figures must be lost
in the obscure tints and in the background of the group; for, if these
parts were to appear too vivid and fiery, they would confound the
distinction between the figures, but by remaining dark and hazy almost
as background they give even greater force to the others which are in
front. Nor can one believe how much grace and beauty is given to the
work by varying the colours of the flesh, making the complexion of the
young fresher than that of the old, giving to the middle-aged a tint
between a brick-colour and a greenish yellow; and almost in the same way
as in drawing one contrasts the mien of the old with that of youths and
young girls and children, so the sight of one face soft and plump, and
another fresh and blooming, makes in the painting a most harmonious
dissonance.

In this way one ought, in working, to put the dark tints where they are
least conspicuous and make least division, in order to bring out the
figures, as is seen in the pictures of Raffaello da Urbino and of other
excellent painters who have followed this manner. One ought not however
to hold to this rule in the groups where the lights imitate those of the
sun and moon or of fires or bright things at night, because these
effects are produced by means of hard and sharp contrasts as happens in
life. And in the upper part, wherever such a light may strike there will
always be sweetness and harmony. One can recognize in those pictures
which possess these qualities that the intelligence of the painter has
by the harmony of his colours assured the excellence of the design,
given charm to the picture, and prominence and stupendous force to the
figures.

CHAPTER V. (XIX.)

Of Painting on the Wall, how it is done, and why it is called Working
in Fresco.

§ 81. _The Fresco process._

Of all the methods that painters employ, painting on the wall is the
most masterly and beautiful, because it consists in doing in a single
day that which, in the other methods, may be retouched day after day,
over the work already done. Fresco was much used among the
ancients,[196] and the older masters among the moderns have continued to
employ it. It is worked on the plaster while it is fresh and must not be
left till the day’s portion is finished. The reason is that if there be
any delay in painting, the plaster forms a certain slight crust whether
from heat or cold or currents of air or frost whereby the whole work is
stained and grows mouldy. To prevent this the wall that is to be painted
must be kept continually moist; and the colours employed thereon must
all be of earths and not metallic and the white of calcined
travertine.[197] There is needed also a hand that is dexterous, resolute
and rapid, but most of all a sound and perfect judgement; because while
the wall is wet the colours show up in one fashion, and afterwards when
dry they are no longer the same. Therefore in these works done in fresco
it is necessary that the judgement of the painter should play a more
important part than his drawing, and that he should have for his guide
the very greatest experience, it being supremely difficult to bring
fresco work to perfection. Many of our artists excel in the other kinds
of work, that is, in oil or in tempera, but in this do not succeed,
fresco being truly the most manly, most certain, most resolute and
durable of all the other methods, and as time goes on it continually
acquires infinitely more beauty and harmony than do the others. Exposed
to the air fresco throws off all impurities, water does not penetrate
it, and it resists anything that would injure it. But beware of having
to retouch it with colours that contain size prepared from parchment, or
the yolk of egg, or gum or tragacanth, as many painters do, for besides
preventing the wall from showing up the work in all clearness, the
colours become clouded by that retouching and in a short time turn
black. Therefore let those who desire to work on the wall work boldly in
fresco and not retouch in the dry, because, besides being a very poor
thing in itself, it renders the life of the pictures short, as has been
said in another place.

CHAPTER VI. (XX.)

Of Painting in Tempera,[198] or with egg, on Panel or Canvas, and how it
is employed on the wall which is dry.

§ 82. _Painting in Tempera._

Before the time of Cimabue and from that time onwards, works done by the
Greeks in tempera on panel and occasionally on the wall have always been
seen. And these old masters when they laid the gesso ground on their
panels, fearing lest they should open at the joints, were accustomed to
cover them all over with linen cloth attached with glue of parchment
shreds, and then above that they put on the gesso to make their working
ground.[199] They then mixed the colours they were going to use with the
yolk of an egg or tempera,[200] of the following kind. They whisked up
an egg and shredded into it a tender branch of a fig tree, in order that
the milk of this with the egg should make the tempera of the colours,
which after being mixed with this medium were ready for use. They chose
for these panels mineral colours of which some are made by the chemists
and some found in the mines. And for this kind of work all pigments are
good, except the white used for work on walls made with lime, for that
is too strong. In this manner their works and their pictures are
executed, and this they call colouring in tempera. But the blues are
mixed with parchment size, because the yellow of the egg would turn them
green whereas size does not affect them, nor does gum. The same method
is followed on panels whether with or without a gesso ground; and thus
on walls when they are dry the artist gives one or two coats of hot
size, and afterwards with colours mixed with that size he carries out
the whole work. The process of mixing colours with size is easy if what
has been related of tempera be observed. Nor will the colours suffer for
this since there are yet seen things in tempera by our old masters which
have been preserved in great beauty and freshness for hundreds of
years.[201] And certainly one still sees things of Giotto’s, some even
on panel, that have already lasted two hundred years and are preserved
in very good condition. Working in oil has come later, and this has made
many put aside the method of tempera: in so much that to-day we see that
the oil medium has been, and still is, continually used for panel
pictures and other works of importance.

CHAPTER VII. (XXI.)

Of Painting in Oil on Panel or on Canvas.

§ 83. _Oil Painting, its Discovery and Early History._

A most beautiful invention and a great convenience to the art of
Painting, was the discovery of colouring in oil. The first inventor of
it was John of Bruges in Flanders,[202] who sent the panel to Naples to
King Alfonso,[203] and to the Duke of Urbino, Federico II,[204] the
paintings for his bathroom. He made also a San Gironimo,[205] that
Lorenzo de’ Medici possessed, and many other estimable things. Then
Roger of Bruges[206] his disciple followed him; and Ausse (Hans)[207]
disciple of Roger, who painted for the Portinari at Santa Maria Nuova in
Florence a small picture which is to-day in Duke Cosimo’s possession.
From his hand also comes the picture at Careggi, a villa outside of
Florence belonging to the most illustrious house of the Medici. There
were likewise among the first painters in oil Lodovico da Luano[208] and
Pietro Crista,[209] and master Martin[210] and Justus of Ghent[211] who
painted the panel of the communion of the Duke of Urbino and other
pictures; and Hugo of Antwerp who was the author of the picture at Santa
Maria Nuova in Florence.[212] This art was afterwards brought into Italy
by Antonello da Messina, who spent many years in Flanders, and when he
returned to this side of the mountains, he took up his abode in Venice,
and there taught the art to some friends. One of these was Domenico
Veniziano, who brought it afterwards to Florence, where he painted in
oil the chapel of the Portinari in Santa Maria Nuova. Here Andrea dal
Castagno learned the art and taught it to other masters,[213] among whom
it was amplified and went on gaining in importance till the time of
Pietro Perugino, of Leonardo da Vinci and of Raffaello da Urbino, so
much so that it has now attained to that beauty which thanks to these
masters our artists have achieved. This manner of painting kindles the
pigments and nothing else is needed save diligence and devotion, because
the oil in itself softens and sweetens the colours and renders them more
delicate and more easily blended than do the other mediums. While the
work is wet the colours readily mix and unite one with the other; in
short, by this method the artists impart wonderful grace and vivacity
and vigour to their figures, so much so that these often seem to us in
relief and ready to issue forth from the panel, especially when they are
carried out in good drawing with invention and a beautiful style.

§ 84. _How to Prime the Panel or Canvas._

I must now explain how to set about the work. When the artist wishes to
begin, that is, after he has laid the gesso on the panels or framed
canvases and smoothed it, he spreads over this with a sponge four or
five coats of the smoothest size, and proceeds to grind the colours with
walnut or linseed oil, though walnut oil is better because it yellows
less with time. When they are ground with these oils, which is their
tempera (medium), nothing else is needed so far as the colours are
concerned, but to lay them on with a brush. But first there must be made
a composition of pigments which possess seccative qualities as white
lead, dryers, and earth such as is used for bells,[214] all thoroughly
well mixed together and of one tint, and when the size is dry this must
be plastered over the panel and then beaten with the palm of the hand,
so that it becomes evenly united and spread all over, and this many call
the ‘imprimatura’ (priming).

§ 85. _Drawing, by transfer or directly._

After spreading the said composition or pigment all over the panel, the
cartoon that you have made with figures and inventions all your own may
be put on it, and under this cartoon another sheet of paper covered with
black on one side, that is, on that part that lies on the priming.
Having fixed both the one and the other with little nails, take an iron
point or else one of ivory or hard wood and go over the outlines of the
cartoons, marking them firmly. In so doing the cartoon is not spoiled
and all the figures and other details on the cartoon become very well
outlined on the panel or framed canvas.

He who does not wish to make cartoons should draw with tailors’ white
chalk over the priming or else with charcoal made from the willow tree,
because both are easily erased. Thus it is seen that the artist, after
the priming is dry, either tracing the cartoon or drawing with white
chalk, makes the first sketch[215] which some call ‘imporre’ (getting it
in). And having finished covering the whole the artist returns to it
again to complete it with the greatest care: and here he employs all his
art and diligence to bring it to perfection. In this manner do the
masters in oil proceed with their pictures.

CHAPTER VIII. (XXII.)

Of Painting in Oil on a Wall which is dry.

§ 86. _Mural Painting in Oil._

When artists wish to work in oil on the dry wall two methods may be
followed: first, if the wall have been whitened, either ‘a fresco’ or
otherwise, it must be scraped; or if it be left smooth without whitening
but only plastered there must be given to it two or three coats of
boiled oil, the process being repeated till the wall cannot drink in
more, and when dry it is covered over with the composition or priming
spoken of in the last chapter. When this is finished and dry, the artist
can trace or draw on it and can finish such work in the same manner as
he treats the panel, always having a little varnish mixed with the
colours, because if he does this he need not varnish it afterwards. The
other method is for the artist to make, either with stucco of marble
dust or finely pounded brick, a rough cast that must be smoothed, and to
score it with the edge of a trowel, in order that the wall may be left
seamed. Afterwards he puts on a coat of linseed oil, and then mixes in a
bowl some Greek pitch and resin (mastice) and thick varnish, and when
this is boiled it is thrown on to the wall with a big brush, and then
spread all over with a builder’s trowel that has been heated in the
fire. This mixture fills up the scores in the rough cast and makes a
very smooth skin over the wall, when dry it is covered with priming, or
a composition worked in the manner usually adopted for oil, as we have
already explained.[216]

§ 87. _Vasari’s own Method._

Since the experience of many years has taught me how to work in oil on a
wall, I have recently, in painting the halls, chambers, and other rooms
of Duke Cosimo’s palace,[217] followed the method frequently used by me
in the past for this sort of work; which method is briefly this. Make
the rough cast, over which put the plaster made of lime, pounded brick,
and sand, and leave it to dry thoroughly; that done, make a second
coating of lime, very finely pounded brick, and the scum from iron
works; these three ingredients in equal proportions, bound with white of
egg sufficiently beaten and linseed oil, make a very stiff stucco, such
as cannot be excelled. But take great care not to neglect the plaster
while it is fresh, lest it should crack in many places; indeed it is
necessary, if one wish to keep it good, to be ever about it with the
trowel or spatula or spoon, whichever we choose to call it, until it be
all evenly spread over the surface in the way it has to remain. Then
when this plaster is dry and some priming or composition laid over it,
the figures and scenes can be perfectly carried out, as the works in the
said palace and many others will clearly demonstrate to everyone.

CHAPTER IX. (XXIII.)

Of Painting in Oil on Canvas.

§ 88. _Painting on Canvas._[218]

In order to be able to convey pictures from one place to another men
have invented the convenient method of painting on canvas, which is of
little weight, and when rolled up is easy to transport. Unless these
canvases intended for oil painting are to remain stationary, they are
not covered with gesso, which would interfere with their flexibility,
seeing that the gesso would crack if they were rolled up. A paste
however is made of flour and walnut oil with two or three measures[219]
of white lead put into it, and after the canvas has been covered from
one side to the other with three or four coats of smooth size, this
paste is spread on by means of a knife, and all the holes come to be
filled up by the hand of the artist. That done, he gives it one or two
more coats of soft size and then the composition or priming. In order to
paint on it afterwards he follows the same method as has been described
above for the other processes. Because painting on canvas has seemed
easy and convenient it has been adopted not only for small pictures that
can be carried about, but also for altar pieces and other important
compositions, such as are seen in the halls of the palace of San Marco
at Venice,[220] and elsewhere. Consequently, where the panels are not
sufficiently large they are replaced by canvases on account of the size
and convenience of the latter.[221]

CHAPTER X. (XXIV.)

Of painting in Oil on Stone, and what stones are good for the purpose.

§ 89. _Oil painting on Stone._

The courage of our pictorial artists has gone on increasing, so that
colouring in oil, besides the use made of it on the wall, can when they
desire be employed also for painting on stones. Of these last they have
found a suitable kind on the sea coast of Genoa, in those flagstones we
have spoken of in connection with Architecture,[222] which are very well
fitted for this purpose, for the reason that they are compact and of
fine grain, and take an even polish. In modern times an almost unlimited
number of artists have painted on these slabs and have found the true
method of working upon them. Later they have tried the finer stones,
such as marble breccias, serpentines, porphyries and the like, which
being smooth and polished admit of the colour attaching itself to them.
But in truth when the stone is rough and dry it imbibes and takes the
boiled oil and the colour much better; as is the case with some kinds of
soft peperino, which, when they are worked over the surface with an iron
tool and are not rubbed down with sand or a piece of hearth stone, can
be brought to a smooth surface with the same mixture that I spoke of in
connection with the rough cast and that heated trowel. Therefore it is
not necessary to begin by spreading size on all these stones, but only a
coat of priming of oil colour, that is, the composition already referred
to, and when this is dry the work may be begun at will.

He who desires to paint a picture in oil on stone can take some of those
Genoese flagstones and have them cut square and fixed in the wall with
clamps over a layer of stucco, spreading the composition well over the
joinings so as to make a flat surface of the size the artist needs. This
is the true way of bringing such works to a finished state, and when
completed, ornaments can be added of fine stones, breccias, and other
marbles. These, provided they are worked with diligence and care, endure
for ever. They may or may not be varnished, just as you like, because
the stone does not suck up, that is, absorb as much as does the panel or
canvas, and it is impervious to worms, which cannot be said for wooden
panels.[223]

CHAPTER XI. (XXV.)

Of Painting on the wall in Monochrome with various earths; how objects
in bronze are imitated; and of groups for Triumphal Arches or festal
structures, done with powdered earths mixed with size, which process
is called Gouache and Tempera.

§ 90. _Imitative Paintings for Decorations._

Monochromes according to the painters are a kind of picture that has a
closer relation to drawing than to work in colour because it has been
derived from copying marble statues and figures in bronze and various
sorts of stone; and artists have been accustomed to decorate in
monochrome the façades of palaces and houses, giving these a semblance
other than the reality, and making them appear to be built of marble or
stone, with the decorative groups actually carved in relief; or indeed
they may imitate particular sorts of marble, and porphyry, serpentine,
and red and grey granite or other stones, or bronze, according to their
taste, arranging them in many divisions; and this style is much in use
now-a-days for the fronts of houses and palaces in Rome and throughout
Italy.

These paintings are executed in two ways, first, in fresco which is the
true way; secondly, on canvas to adorn arches erected on the occasion of
the entrance of princes into the city, and of processions, or in the
apparatus for fêtes and plays, since on such structures they produce a
very beautiful effect. We shall first treat of the manner of working
these in fresco, and then speak of the other method. In the first kind
the backgrounds are laid in with potters’ clay, and with this is mixed
powdered charcoal or other black for the darker shadows, and white of
travertine. There are many gradations from light to dark; the high
lights are put in with pure white, and the strongest shadows are
finished with the deepest black. Such works must have boldness,
intention, power, vivacity, and grace, and must be expressed with an
artistic freedom and spirit and with nothing cramped about them, because
they have to be seen and recognized from a distance.[224] In this style
too must bronze figures be imitated; they are sketched in on a
background of yellow and red earth, the darker shades put in with
blended tints of black, red, and yellow, the middle tints with pure
yellow, and the high lights with yellow and white.[225] And with these
painters have composed decorations on the façades, intermingling
statues, which in this kind of work give a most graceful effect.

Those pictures however intended for arches, plays, or festivals, are
worked after the canvas has been prepared with clay, that is, with that
pure earth (terretta) before mentioned which potters use, mixed with
size,[226] and the back of the canvas must be moistened while the artist
is painting on it, that the darks and lights of his work may unite
better with the ground of clay.[227] It is customary to mix the blacks
with a little tempera;[228] white leads are used for the white, and red
lead to simulate relief in things that appear to be of bronze, and
Naples yellow (giallino) to put in the high lights over the red lead,
and for the backgrounds and the darks the same red and yellow earths and
the same blacks that I spoke of in connection with fresco work; these
make the half tints and shadows. The painter uses also other different
pigments to shade other kinds of monochromes, such as umber to which is
added terra verte and yellow ochre and white; in the same way is used
black earth, which is another sort of terra verte and the dark colour
that is called ‘verdaccio.’[229]

CHAPTER XII. (XXVI.)

Of the Sgraffiti for house decoration which withstand water; that
which is used in their production; and how Grotesques are worked on
the wall.

§ 91. _Sgraffito-work._

Painters have another sort of picture which is drawing and painting both
together. This is called sgraffito; it serves only for ornament on the
façades of houses and palaces, and is very quickly executed, while it
perfectly resists the action of water, because all the outlines, instead
of being drawn with charcoal or other similar material, are etched by
the hand of the painter with an iron tool. The work is done in this
manner. They take lime mixed with sand in the usual fashion and tinge it
by means of burnt straw to a tint of a medium colour inclining to pearl
grey, a little more towards the dark than the middle tint, and with this
they plaster the façade. That done and the façade smoothed, they give it
a coat of white all over with the white lime of travertine, and then
dust over the (perforated) cartoons, or else draw directly that which
they wish to execute. Afterwards pressing upon it with an iron stylus
they trace the contours and draw lines on the cement, which, because
there is a black substance underneath, shows all the scratches of the
tool as marks of drawing.[230]

It is customary too to scrape away the white in the backgrounds, and
then to prepare a water colour tint, darkish and very watery, and with
that reinforce the darks, as one would do on paper; this seen at a
distance is most effective. But if there be grotesques or leafage in the
design, cast shadows are painted on the background by means of that
water colour. This is the work that the painters have called sgraffito,
on account of its being scratched by the iron instrument.

§ 92. _Grotesques, or Fanciful Devices, painted or modelled on
Walls._[231]

There remains to us now to speak of the grotesques done on the wall. For
those, then, that go on a white ground, when the background is not of
stucco (white plaster), because the ordinary lime plastering is not
white, therefore a thin coat of white is laid over; and that done the
cartoons are powdered and the work executed in fresco with opaque
colours,[232] but these will never have the charm of those worked
directly upon the stucco. In this style there may be grotesques both
coarse and fine, and these are done in the same way as the figures in
fresco or on the dry wall.

[Illustration:

PLATE XI

SPECIMEN OF SO-CALLED ‘SGRAFFITO’ DECORATION

On the exterior of the Palazzo Montalvo, Florence
]

CHAPTER XIII. (XXVII.)

How Grotesques are worked on the Stucco.

The grotesque is a kind of free and humorous picture produced by the
ancients for the decoration of vacant spaces in some position where only
things placed high up are suitable. For this purpose they fashioned
monsters deformed by a freak of nature or by the whim and fancy of the
workers, who in these grotesque pictures make things outside of any
rule, attaching to the finest thread a weight that it cannot support, to
a horse legs of leaves, to a man the legs of a crane, and similar
follies and nonsense without end.[233] He whose imagination ran the most
oddly, was held to be the most able. Afterwards the grotesques were
reduced to rule and for friezes and compartments had a most admirable
effect. Similar works in stucco were mingled with the painting. So
generally was this usage adopted that in Rome and in every place where
the Romans settled there is some vestige of it still preserved. And
truly, when touched with gold and modelled in stucco such works are gay
and delightful to behold.

They are executed in four different ways.[234] One is to work in stucco
alone: another to make only the ornaments of stucco and paint groups in
the spaces thus formed and grotesques on the friezes: the third to make
the figures partly in stucco, and partly painted in black and white so
as to imitate cameos and other stones. Many examples of this kind of
grotesque and stucco work have been, and still are seen, done by the
moderns, who with consummate grace and beauty have ornamented the most
notable buildings of all Italy, so that the ancients are left far
behind. Finally the last method is to work upon stucco with water
colour, leaving the stucco itself for the lights, and shading the rest
with various colours. Of all these kinds of work, all of which offer a
good resistance to time, antique examples are seen in numberless places
in Rome, and at Pozzuoli near to Naples. This last sort can also be
excellently worked in fresco with opaque colours, leaving the stucco
white for the background.[235] And truly all these works possess
wonderful beauty and grace. Among them are introduced landscape views,
which much enliven them, as do also little coloured compositions of
figures on a small scale. There are to-day many masters in Italy who
make this sort of work their profession, and really excel in it.

CHAPTER XIV. (XXVIII.)

Of the manner of applying Gold on a Bolus,[236] or with a Mordant,[237]

and other methods.

§ 93. _Methods of Gilding._

[Illustration:

FRESCO FROM RAFFAEL’S LOGGIE IN THE VATICAN.
]

It was truly a most beautiful secret and an ingenious investigation—that
discovery of the method of beating gold into such thin leaves, that for
every thousand pieces beaten to the size of the eighth of a braccio in
every direction, the cost, counting the labour and the gold, was not
more than the value of six scudi.[238] Nor was it in any way less
ingenious to discover the method of spreading the gold over the gesso in
such a manner that the wood and other material hidden beneath it should
appear a mass of gold. This is how it is done. The wood is covered with
the thinnest gesso kneaded with size weak rather than strong, and
coarser gesso is laid on in several coats according as the wood has been
well or badly prepared. When the gesso is scraped and smoothed, white of
egg beaten carefully in water is mixed with Armenian bole, which has
been reduced with water to the finest paste. The first coat of this is
made watery, I mean to say liquid and clear, and the next thicker. This
is laid on to the panel at least three times, until it takes it well all
over, then with a brush the worker gradually wets with pure water the
parts where the Armenian bole has been applied and there he puts on the
gold leaf, which quickly sticks to that soft substance;[239] and when
partially but not entirely dry he burnishes it with a dog’s tooth or the
tooth of a wolf in order to make it become lustrous and beautiful.[240]

Gilding is effected in another fashion also, ‘with a mordant,’ as it is
said.[241] This is used for every sort of material—stone, wood, canvas,
metals of all kinds, cloth, and leather; and is not burnished as is the
former. The mordant, which is the lye that holds the gold, is made of
various sorts of drying oil pigments and of oil boiled with the varnish
in it. It is laid upon the wood which has first received two coats of
size. And after the mordant is so applied, not when it is fresh, but
half dry, the gold leaf is laid upon it. The same can be done also with
gum-ammoniac, when there is hurry, provided that the stuff is good. This
is used more to adorn saddles and make arabesques and other ornaments
than for anything else. Sometimes also gold leaves are ground in a glass
cup with a little honey and gum[242] and made use of by
miniature-painters and many others who, with the brush, delight to draw
outlines and put very delicate lights into pictures. And all these are
most valuable secrets; but because they are very numerous one does not
take much account of them.

CHAPTER XV. (XXIX.)

Of Glass Mosaic and how it is recognized as good and praiseworthy.

§ 94. _Glass Mosaics._

We have spoken sufficiently above, in the sixth chapter on Architecture,
of the nature of mosaic and how it is made, and, adding here just so
much as really refers to pictures, let us say that very great mastery is
needed to arrange the pieces so harmoniously that the mosaic appears at
a distance a genuine and beautiful picture, seeing that this kind of
work demands great experience and judgement and a profound knowledge of
the art of design. For if any one in his designs obscure the mosaic with
too great wealth and abundance of figures in the groups, and with
multiplying over-much the pieces, he will bring it all into confusion.
Therefore the design of the cartoons made for mosaic must be open,
broad, easy, clear, and carried out with excellence and in admirable
style.[243] The artist who understands the force of shadows in the
design and of giving few lights and many darks, leaving in these certain
vacant spaces or fields, he above all others will make his mosaic
beautiful and well arranged. Mosaic to be praised must have clearness in
itself, with a certain harmonious obscurity towards the shadows, and
must be executed far from the eye with the greatest discretion that it
may be esteemed painting and not inlaid work.[244] Therefore the mosaics
that have these qualities, are good and will be praised by everyone; and
it is certain that mosaic is the most durable picture that exists. Other
painting fades through time, but mosaic continually brightens with age;
other painting fails and wastes away, while mosaic on account of its
long life may almost be called eternal.[245] For this reason we perceive
in it not only the perfection of the old masters, but also of the
ancients[246]—by means of those examples from their epoch that we
recognize as such to-day, as in the Temple of Bacchus at Sant’ Agnese
outside of Rome, where all that is there executed is exceedingly well
done.[247] At Ravenna also there is some very beautiful old mosaic in
many places, and at Venice in San Marco, at Pisa in the Duomo, and at
Florence in the tribune of San Giovanni,[248] but the most beautiful of
all is that of Giotto in the main aisle of the porch at St. Peter’s at
Rome[249]—truly a miraculous thing in that kind of work—and among the
moderns there is that of Domenico Ghirlandaio above the door outside
Santa Maria del Fiore that leads to the Annunziata.[250]

§ 95. _The Preparation of the Mosaic Cubes._

The pieces for mosaic are prepared in the following manner. When the
glass furnaces are ready and the pans full of glass, the workers go
round giving to every pan its own colour, starting from a true white
which contains body and is not transparent, and carefully proceeding to
the darker tints by gradual transitions, in the same manner as they make
the mixtures of colours for ordinary painting. Afterwards when the glass
is fused and in a fit state, and the mixtures both light and dark and of
every tint are prepared, they ladle out the hot glass with certain long
iron spoons and spread it on a flat piece of marble, then with another
piece of marble press it evenly, making round discs that come equally
flat and remain the third part of the breadth of a finger in thickness.
Then some cut little square pieces with an iron tool called dog’s mouth,
and others break it with a hot iron tool, cracking it as they wish.[251]
The same pieces if too long are cut with emery and so are all the pieces
of glass that have need of it. They are then put into boxes and kept
arranged as is done with the pigments for fresco work, which are kept
separately in various little pots so that the mixtures of the lighter
and the darker tints may be ready at hand for working.

There is another sort of glass covered with gold that is used for the
background and for the lights of the draperies.[252] When the glass is
to be gilded, the workers take the glass disc which they have made, and
damp it over with gum-water, and then apply the gold leaf; this done
they put this gold-covered disc on an iron shovel and that in the mouth
of the furnace, first covering with a thin piece of glass all the glass
disc that they had coated with gold. These coverings are made either of
glass bubbles or of broken bottles so that one piece covers the whole
disc, and it is then held in the furnace till it becomes almost red, and
quickly drawn out, when the gold at once becomes admirably set so as to
be imprinted in the glass and remain there. This is impervious to water
and resists every attack, and afterwards the disc is cut and disposed as
the other coloured pieces described above.

§ 96. _The Fixing of the Mosaic Cubes._

In order to fix the mosaic in the wall, the custom is to make a coloured
cartoon, though some make it without colour, and to trace or mark the
cartoon bit by bit on the stucco,[253] and then to proceed to arrange
the pieces as many as are needed to fill in the mosaic work. The stucco,
when put on in a thick coat over the wall, remains available two days
and sometimes four, according to the kind of weather. It is made of
travertine, lime,[254] pounded brick, gum-tragacanth and white of egg,
and once made it is kept moist with damp cloths. Thus then, bit by bit,
they cut the cartoons for the wall, and trace the design on the stucco;
afterwards with certain little tongs, they pick up the bits of vitreous
paste and fit them together in the stucco, and give lights to the
lights, middle tints to the middle tints and darks to the darks,
imitating minutely the shadows, the lights, and the half tints as they
are in the cartoons.[255] Thus, working with diligence they gradually
bring it all to perfection, and he who best succeeds in joining it so
that it comes out even and smooth, is most worthy of praise and is more
esteemed than the others. Some are so clever in working mosaic that they
make it appear as if painted in fresco. So firmly does the glass harden
into the stucco, after the latter has set, that this mosaic lasts for
ever—as is testified by the antique mosaics, which are in Rome, and
those also which are of the older (modern) times. In both methods of
working the moderns of our days have done marvellous things.

CHAPTER XVI. (XXX.)

Concerning the Compositions and Figures made in Inlaid Work on
Pavements in imitation of objects in monochrome.

§ 97. _Pavements in Marble Mosaic and Monochrome._

To the mosaic in small pieces our modern masters have added another kind
of mosaic, that of marbles fitted together to counterfeit painted groups
in monochrome. This art takes its origin from the very ardent desire
that there should remain in the world to those who come after, even if
other kinds of painting were to be destroyed, a light that may keep
alive the memory of modern painters. Hence they have produced with
wondrous skill very large compositions that can be placed not only on
the pavements, where one walks, but also on the face of walls and
palaces, with such beautiful and marvellous art that there can be no
danger lest time should waste away the design of those who excel in this
profession. Examples of these works can be seen in the Duomo at Siena
begun first by Duccio of Siena, then added to by Domenico Beccafumi, and
continued by others even to our own day.[256]

This art possesses so much that is good, new, and durable, that for
pictorial work made up of black and white greater excellence and beauty
can hardly be desired. It is composed of three sorts of marble, which
come from the Carrara mountains:[257] one of these is the finest pure
white marble; another is not white but inclines to a livid tint, which
furnishes a middle shade; and the third is grey marble that inclines
towards a silvery hue, and this serves for dark. When the artist wishes
to compose a figure from these marbles he first prepares a cartoon in
light and shade with the same tints, and that done, following the
outlines of those medium and dark and pale tints, he fits together with
great care in their proper places first of all in the middle, the light
of that pure white marble, and then the half-tones and the darks beside
them, according to the actual outlines that the artist has drawn in the
cartoon. When all the pieces of marble, the light pieces as well as the
darks and half tints, are joined together and are laid quite flat, the
artist who has prepared the cartoon takes a fine brush dipped in moist
black, and, with all the work fitted together before him on the ground,
traces in lines the contours and where the shadows come, in the same
manner in which one would prepare an outlined drawing for monochrome.
That done the carver proceeds to cut in with chisels all those lines and
contours that the painter has made, and he hollows out all that part
which the brush has marked with black. Having finished this, the pieces
are built in on the flat bit by bit, and then with a mixture of boiled
black pitch, or asphalt, or black earth, all the hollows which the
chisel has made are filled up. When the material is cold and has set,
the worker proceeds to remove and rub away the projecting parts with
pieces of soft stone, and to smooth and polish with sand, bricks, and
water, till all that remains is brought to a true surface, that is, the
marble itself and the substance put in to fill up the hollows. When that
is done the work remains in aspect exactly like a flat picture, and
possesses great force combined with art and masterly skill. This kind of
work has come much into use on account of its beauty.

§ 98. _Pavements in Variegated Tiles._

Hence it is that the pavements of many apartments in our day are made of
variegated bricks, one portion of white clay, that is of clay that draws
towards a bluish shade when it is fresh and when baked becomes white,
and the other portion of the ordinary earth for making bricks which
becomes red when baked. Of these two sorts are made pavements, inlaid in
various designs and compartments, as the papal halls at Rome in the time
of Raffaello da Urbino bear testimony;[258] and now recently many
apartments in the castle of Sant’ Angelo where emblems of lilies of
fitted pieces showing the arms of Pope Paolo, and many other devices,
have been made with these same bricks. In Florence also there is the
pavement of the library of San Lorenzo ordered to be made by Duke
Cosimo. All have been executed with such great care that anything more
beautiful in that sort of workmanship cannot be desired, and the point
of departure for all these inlaid things was the first mosaic.

§ 99. _Pavements in Breccia Marble._

To explain why no mention was made of some breccias recently discovered
by Duke Cosimo while stones and marbles of all sorts were being spoken
of—I may say that in the year 1563 His Excellency found in the mountains
of Pietrasanta, near to the village of Stazzema, a hill which extends
for two miles, whose outer crust is of white marble excellent for
statues. The under layer is a red and yellowish breccia, and those
farther down are greenish, black, red, and yellow with various other
mixtures of colour; all these marbles are hard, and their nature is such
that the farther one penetrates inwards the greater is their solidity.
Up to the present time there can be seen quarried from thence columns of
fifteen to twenty braccia; but these marbles are not yet put into use,
because a road three miles in length is only now being constructed by
order of his Excellency to make it possible to transport the marbles
from the said quarries to the sea shore.[259] These breccias will, so
far as one can see, be most suitable for pavements.

CHAPTER XVII. (XXXI.)

Of Mosaic in wood, that is, of Tarsia; and of the Compositions that
are made in Tinted Woods, fitted together after the manner of a
picture.

§ 100. _Inlays in Wood._

How easy a thing it is to add some new discovery to the inventions of
the past, is clearly shown to us, not only by the aforesaid fitted
pavement, which without doubt comes from mosaic work, but also by these
same tarsias and the figures of many different things, that closely
resembling mosaic and painting have been made by our elder artists out
of little pieces of wood, variously coloured, fitted and joined together
in panels of walnut. This is called by the moderns ‘lavoro di commesso’
(inlaid work) although to the elder artists it was tarsia. The best
specimens of this work were to be found in Florence in the time of
Filippo di Ser Brunellesco and afterwards in that of Benedetto da
Maiano, who, however, strangely enough judged tarsia a useless thing and
completely abandoned it as will be told in his Life. He, like the others
of past times, executed tarsia in black and white only, but Fra Giovanni
of Verona who was very proficient in the art improved it greatly, giving
various colours to the woods by means of dyes in boiling water and of
penetrating oils, in order to produce the lights and shadows with these
variously tinted woods, as in the art of painting, and skilfully putting
in the high lights by means of the very white wood of the silio.[260]
This work began in the first instance with designs in perspective,
because the forms in these end with plane angles, and the pieces joined
together showed the contours, and the work appeared all of one flat
piece, though it was made up of more than a thousand. The ancients
worked however in the same manner with incrustations of fine stones: as
is plainly seen in the portico of St. Peter’s, where there is a cage
with a bird and all the details of the wooden bars etc., on a ground of
porphyry inlaid with other different stones.[261] But, because wood is
more pliant and much more amenable for this work, our masters have been
able to make more abundant use of it and in the way that best pleased
them. Formerly for making the shadows they used to scorch the wood with
fire on one side, this imitated shade well; but others afterwards have
used oil of sulphur and corrosive sublimate and preparations of arsenic,
with which substances they have obtained the hues that they desired, as
is seen in the work of Fra Damiano in San Domenico in Bologna.[262] And
because such a line of work consists only in the choice of designs that
may be adapted to it—those containing blocks of buildings and objects
with rectangular outlines to which force and projection can be lent by
means of light and shade—it has always been exercised by persons
possessing more patience than skill in design. And thus it is that
though many things have been produced in this line, such as
representations of figures, fruit, and animals, some of which are in
truth most life-like, yet since it is a work that soon becomes black and
does not do more than counterfeit painting, being less than painting,
and is also of short duration because of worms and fire, it is
considered time thrown away in vain to practise it, although it may
indeed be both praiseworthy and masterly.[263]

CHAPTER XVIII. (XXXII.)

On Painting Glass Windows and how they are put together with Leads and
supported with Irons so as not to interfere with the view of the
figures.

§ 101. _Stained Glass Windows; their Origin and History._

Formerly the ancients were in the habit of filling in their windows, but
only in the houses of great men, or of those at least of some
importance, in such a manner as to prevent the wind or cold from
entering, while not excluding the light. This plan was adopted only in
their baths and sweating rooms, vapour baths and other retiring rooms,
and the apertures and vacant places of these were closed with
transparent stones, such as onyx marbles,[264] alabasters, and other
delicate marbles that are variegated or that incline towards a yellowish
tint. But the moderns, who have had glass furnaces in much greater
abundance, have made the windows of glass, either of bull’s-eyes[265] or
of panes, similar to or in imitation of those that the ancients made of
stone; and they have fastened them together and bound them with strips
of lead, grooved on both sides, and furnished them and secured them with
irons let into the walls for this purpose, or indeed into wooden
frames,[266] as we shall relate. Whereas at first the windows used to be
made simply of clear bull’s-eyes with white or coloured corners,
afterwards the artists thought of making a mosaic of the shapes of these
glasses differently coloured and joined after the manner of a
picture.[267] And so refined has the skill in this art become, that in
our days glass windows are seen carried to the same perfection that is
arrived at in fine pictures upon panel, with all their harmony of colour
and finish of execution, and this we shall amply show in the Life of the
Frenchman Guglielmo da Marcilla.[268]

In this art the Flemings and the French have succeeded better than the
other nations, seeing that they, with their cunning researches into
pigments and the action on them of fire, have managed to burn in the
colours that are put on the glass, so that wind, air, and rain may do
them no injury, whereas formerly it was customary to paint windows in
colours coated with gum and other temperas that wasted away through time
and were carried off by the winds, mists, and rains, till nothing was
left but the mere colour of the glass. In the present age, we see this
art brought to that high grade beyond which one can hardly desire
further perfection of fineness and beauty and of every quality which
contributes thereto. It supplies a delicate loveliness not less
beneficial to health, through securing the rooms from wind and foul
airs, than useful and convenient on account of the clear and unimpeded
light that by its means is offered to us.

In order to produce such windows, three things are necessary, namely,
luminous transparency in the glasses chosen,[269] beautiful arrangement
in that which is worked out with them, and clear colour without any
confusion. Transparency is secured by knowing how to choose glasses that
are clear in themselves, and in this respect French, Flemish, and
English glasses are better than the Venetian,[270] because the Flemish
are very clear and the Venetian much charged with colour. In clear
glasses when shaded with darker tints the light is not totally lost,
they are transparent even in their shadows, but the Venetian, being
obscure in their nature and darker still in their shadow, lose all
transparency. Again many delight in having the glasses loaded with
colours artificially laid on so that when the air and sun strike upon
them, they exhibit I cannot tell how much more beauty than do the
natural colours; nevertheless, it is better to have the glasses clear in
their own substance, rather than obscure, so that when heavily coloured
they may not be left too dim.

§ 102. _The Technique of the Stained Glass Window._[271]

For painting on glass, we must first have a cartoon on which are drawn
the outlines of the figures and of the folds of the drapery. These show
where the pieces of glass have to be joined; then the bits of red,
yellow, blue, and white glass must be picked out and divided according
to the design for the flesh parts and for the draperies, as occasion
demands. To bring each piece of glass to the dimensions traced on the
cartoon, the said pieces are laid on the cartoon and the outline marked
with a brush dipped in white lead, and to each piece is assigned its
number in order to find it easily when joining them together; when the
work is finished the numbers are rubbed off. When this is done, in order
to cut the pieces to measure, the workman, having first drawn an emery
point over the upper surface of the glass along the outline, which he
damps with saliva, takes a red-hot pointed tool and proceeds to pass the
point along the outlines, keeping a little within them; as he gradually
moves the tool, the glass cracks and snaps off from the sheet. Then with
the emery point he trims the said pieces, removing the superfluous part,
and with a tool called ‘grisatoio’ or ‘topo’ (grozing iron) which
nibbles the traced edges, he makes them exact and ready to be joined all
round.

In this manner then the bits of glass fitted together are spread on a
flat table above the cartoon, and the artist begins to paint in the
shadows over the draperies, using for this the ground scales of iron and
of another rust[272] found in iron pits, which is red, or else hard red
haematite finely ground, and with these pigments he shades the flesh,
using alternately black and red, according to need. To produce the flesh
tints it is necessary to glaze all the glasses with this red, and the
draperies with the black, the colours being tempered with gum,[273] and
so gradually to paint and shade the glasses to correspond with the tints
on the cartoon. When this process is finished, the worker, desiring to
put in the brightest lights, takes a short thin brush of hog’s bristles
and with it scratches the glass over the light, and removes some of that
coat of the first colour that had been given all over, and with the
handle of the brush picks out the lights on the hair, the beard, the
drapery, the buildings, and the landscapes as he sees fit. There are
great difficulties however in this work; and he who delights in it may
put various colours on the glass, for example, if he trace a leaf or
other minute object over a red colour, intending it to come out in the
fire a different tint, he removes from the glass a scale the size of the
leaf, with the point of a tool that pares away the upper surface of the
glass. This must be the first layer and not more; by so doing, the glass
remains white[274] and can be tinged afterwards with that red[275] made
of many mixtures, which when fused by heat becomes yellow. This can be
done with all the colours, but the yellow succeeds better on white than
on other colours; when blue is used to paint in the ground, it becomes
green in the firing, because yellow and blue mixed make a green colour.
This yellow is never used unless at the back of the glass where it is
not painted,[276] because if it were on the face it would mingle and
run, so as to spoil and mix itself with the painting; when fired however
the whole of the red remains on the surface, this, when scraped away by
a tool leaves the yellow visible.[277]

After the glasses are painted they must be put into an iron muffle with
a layer of sifted cinders mixed with burnt lime, and arranged evenly,
layer by layer, each layer covered with these ashes; they are then put
into the furnace, in which at a slow fire they are gradually heated
through till both cinders and glasses begin to glow, when the colours
thereon become red hot and run and are incorporated with the glass. In
this firing the greatest care must be taken, because a too violent heat
would make the glasses crack and too little would not fix the colours.
Nor must they be taken out till the pan, or muffle, in which they are
placed is seen to be red hot, as well as the ashes, with some samples
laid on the top to show when the pigment is liquefied.

After this the leads are cast in certain moulds of stone or iron. The
leads have two grooves; that is one on either side, within which the
glass is fitted and pressed tight.[278] The leads are then flattened and
made straight and fastened together on a table. Bit by bit all the work
is leaded in many squares and all the joinings of the lead soldered by
means of tin soldering irons. Across it in parts are iron rods bearing
copper wires leaded in to support and bind the work, which has an
armature of irons that do not run straight across the figures, but are
twisted according to the lines of the joinings, so as not to interrupt
the view of the figures. These are rivetted into the irons that support
the whole, and they are made not square but round that they may
interfere less with the view. They are put on to the outside of the
windows and leaded into holes in the walls, and are strongly bound
together with copper wires, that are soldered by means of fire into the
leads of the windows. And in order that boys and other nuisances should
not spoil the windows, a fine network of copper-wire is placed behind
them. These works, if it were not for the too fragile material, would
last in the world an infinite time. But for all this it cannot be said
that the art is not difficult, artistic, and most beautiful.

CHAPTER XIX. (XXXIII.)

Of Niello,[279] and how by means of this process we have Copper
Prints; and how Silver is engraved to make Enamels over bas-relief,
and in like manner how Gold and Silver Plate is chased.[280]

§ 103. _Niello Work._

Niello, which may be described as a design traced and painted on silver,
as one paints and traces delicately with the pen, was discovered by the
goldsmiths as far back as the time of the ancients, there having been
seen in their gold and silver plates incisions made by tools and filled
up with some mixture.[281] In niello the design is traced with the
stylus on silver which has a smooth surface, and is engraved with the
burin, a square tool cut on the slant like a spur from one of its angles
to the other; for sloping thus towards one of the corners makes it very
sharp and cutting on the two edges, and its point glides over the metal
and graves extremely finely.[282] With this tool is executed all graving
on metal, whether the lines are to be filled or are to be left open,
according to the pleasure of the artificer. When therefore they have
finished their graving with the burin, they take silver and lead and
fuse them into one substance over the fire; and this when completely
amalgamated is black in colour, very friable, and extremely
fusible.[283]

The next process is to pound this substance and put it over the engraved
silver plaque which must be thoroughly clean, then to bring it near to a
fire of green wood, blowing with the bellows that the rays of the fire
may strike upon the niello, which by virtue of the heat melts and flows
filling up all incisions that the graver has made. Afterwards when the
silver has cooled, the worker proceeds to remove carefully the overplus
with scrapers, and with pumice stone to grind it away little by little,
rubbing it with the hands and with a leather till it is reduced to the
true flat and the whole is left polished. The Florentine Maso Finiguerra
worked most admirably in this craft in which he was really
extraordinary, as is testified to by some paxes[284] of niello in San
Giovanni of Florence that are esteemed wonderful.

§ 104. _The Origin of Engraving._

[Illustration:

PLATE XIII

SPECIMEN OF NIELLO WORK

A ‘Pax’ formerly in the Baptistry, and now in the National Museum,
Florence
]

From this graving by the burin are derived the copper plates from which
we see to-day so many impressions throughout all Italy of both Italian
and German origin. Just as impressions in clay were taken from silver
plaques before they were filled with niello, and casts pulled from these
in sulphur,[285] in the same manner the printers found out the method of
striking off the sheets from the copper plates with the press, as we
have seen printing done in our own days.

§ 105. _Enamels over Reliefs._

See now another sort of work in silver and in gold, commonly called
enamel, a kind of painting intermingled with sculpture, suitable for
lining the bottom of pieces intended to hold water.[286] This when
worked on gold, needs the very finest gold; and when on silver, the
silver at least of the quality of the giulio.[287] The following method
is necessary in order that the enamel may remain in its place and not
run beyond its proper limits. The edges of the silver[288] must be left
so fine that when looked at from above they escape the eye. In this way
is made a flat relief contrary to the other kind,[289] in order that
when the enamels are put over it, it may take its darks and lights from
the height and depth of the intaglio. Then glass enamels of various
colours are picked out and carefully fixed with the hammer;[290] they
are kept in little bowls filled with clear water, separated and distinct
one from the other. Those which are used with gold are different from
those that serve for silver[291] and they are worked in the following
manner. The enamels are lifted out separately with the most delicate
little silver shovel and spread in their places with scrupulous
cleanliness, and this is done over and over again, according as the
enamel adheres properly, and so with all the quantity that is needed at
the time. This done, an earthenware receptacle, made on purpose, is
prepared; it must be perforated all over and have a mouthpiece in front,
then the muffle, which is a little perforated earthenware cover that
will prevent the charcoal falling from above, is introduced into this
receptacle, and above the muffle the space is filled up to the top with
oak charcoal kindled in the ordinary way. In the empty space which is
left under the aforenamed cover the enamelled object is placed on a very
thin iron tray to feel the heat gradually and is kept there long enough
to admit of the enamels melting, when they flow all over almost like
water. Which done, it is allowed to cool, and then with a ‘frassinella,’
that is, a stone for sharpening iron tools, and with sand such as is
used for drinking glasses moistened with clear water, it is rubbed till
it becomes perfectly level. When the process of removing all superfluity
is finished, the object is placed in the actual fire, to be melted a
second time in order that the whole surface may become lustrous.[292]
Another sort is made by hand, and polished with Tripoli plaster (powder)
and a piece of leather, but of this there is no need to make
mention.[293] I have however described the above because being, like the
other processes, of the nature of painting it seemed to come into our
subject.

CHAPTER XX. (XXXIV.)

Of Tausia,[294] that is, work called Damascening.

§ 106. _Metal Inlays._

In imitation of the ancients, the moderns have revived a species of
inlaying in metals, with sunk designs in gold or silver, making surfaces
either flat or in half or low relief; and in that they have made great
progress. Thus we have seen works in steel sunk in the manner of tausia,
otherwise called damascening, because of its being excellently well done
in Damascus and in all the Levant. Wherefore we have before us to-day
many bronzes and brasses and coppers inlaid in silver and gold with
arabesques, which have come from those countries; and among the works of
the ancients we have observed rings of steel, with half figures and
leafage very beautiful. In our days, there is made in this kind of work
armour for fighting all worked with arabesques inlaid with gold, also
stirrups and saddle-bows and iron maces: and now much in vogue are such
furnishings of swords, of daggers, of knives and of every weapon that
men desire to have richly ornamented. Damascening is done in this way.
The worker makes undercut sinkings in the iron[295] and beats in the
gold by the force of a hammer, having first made cuttings or little
teeth like those of a slender file underneath, so that the gold is
driven into these hollows and is fixed there.[296] Then by means of
tools, he enriches it with a pleasing design of leaves or of whatever he
fancies. All these designs executed with threads of gold passed through
the wire-drawing plate[297] are twined over the surface of the iron and
beaten in with the hammer, so as to be fixed in the method mentioned
above. Let care however be taken that the threads are thicker than the
incised outlines so as to fill these up and remain fixed into them. In
this craft numberless ingenious men have executed praiseworthy things
which have been esteemed marvellous; and for this reason I have not
wished to omit mention of it, for it depends on inlaid work and so,
partaking of the nature of both sculpture and painting, is part of the
operations of the art of design.

CHAPTER XXI. (XXXV.)

Of Wood Engraving and the method of executing it and concerning its
first Inventor: how Sheets which appear to be drawn by hand and
exhibit Lights and Half-tones and Shades are produced with three
Blocks of Wood.

§ 107. _Chiaroscuro Wood Engravings._

The first inventor of engraving on wood in three pieces for showing not
only the design but the shadows, half tints, and lights also was Ugo da
Carpi.[298] He invented the method of wood engraving in imitation of the
engravings on copper, cutting them on the wood of the pear tree or the
box which are excellent above all other kinds of wood for this work. He
made his blocks then in three pieces,[299] placing on the first all that
is contour and line; on the second all that is tinted near to the
outline, putting in the shadow with water colour; and on the third the
lights and the ground leaving the white of the paper to give the light,
and tingeing the rest for the ground. This third block containing the
light and the ground, is executed in the following manner. A sheet
printed by the first block, on which are all the contours and lines, is
taken wet and placed on the plank of the pear tree and weighted down
with other sheets which are not damp and so pressed upon that the wet
sheet leaves on the board the impression of all the outlines of the
figures. Then the painter takes white lead mixed with gum and puts in
the lights on the pear-wood. After this is done the engraver cuts them
all out with tools, according as they are marked. This block is that
which, duly primed with oil colour,[300] is used for the first process,
namely, to produce the lights and the ground, the whole surface,
therefore, is left tinted except just where it is hollowed out, because
there the paper remains white. The second block is that which gives
shadows. It is quite flat and tinted with water colour, except where the
shadows are not to come, because there the wood is hollowed out. And the
third, which is the first to be shaped, is that in which the whole
outlined part is hollowed out all over, except where there are no
profiles touched in with black by the pen.[301]

[Illustration:

PLATE XIV

CHIAROSCURO WOOD-ENGRAVING BY UGO DA CARPI

In the Print-Room, British Museum. Subject:—‘Jacob’s Dream,’ after
Raphael
]

These are printed at the press and are put under it three times, i.e.
once for each impression, so that they shall severally have the same
pressure. And certainly this was a most beautiful invention.

§ 108. _Dependence on Design of the Decorative Arts._

All these lines of work and ingenious arts, as one sees, are derived
from design, which is the necessary fount of all, for if they are
lacking in design they have nothing.[302] Therefore although all
processes and styles are good, that is best by which every lost thing is
recovered and every difficult thing becomes easy: as we shall see in
reading the Lives of the artists, who, aided by nature and by study have
done superhuman things solely by means of design. And thus, making an
end of the Introduction to the three Arts, treated perhaps at too great
length, which in the beginning I did not intend, I pass on to write the
Lives.

NOTES ON ‘INTRODUCTION’ TO PAINTING

FRESCO PAINTING.

[§ 81, _The Fresco Process_, ante, p. 221.]

The fresco process is generally regarded as one of several methods for
the production of pictures. It is better to consider it in the first
place as a colour finish to plaster work. What it produces is a coloured
surface of a certain quality of texture and a high degree of permanence,
and it is a secondary matter that this coloured surface may be so
diversified as to become a picture.

The history of the process is involved in obscurity, and it is not known
who first observed the fact that colours mixed only with water when laid
on a wet surface of lime plaster dried with the plaster and remained
permanently attached to it. The technique was however known to the
Romans, and we obtain the best idea of its essential character from the
notice of it by Vitruvius in the third chapter of his seventh book. It
is there treated in intimate connection with plaster work, as only the
last stage in the technical treatment of a wall. The wall is constructed
of stone or brick; it is then plastered; and the plaster is, or can be,
finally finished with a wash of colour. Of the character of this antique
plaster work something has already been said in a note to § 72, in
connection with Sculpture (ante, p. 171). It could be finished either in
a plain face of exquisite surface that might even be polished, or with
stamped ornaments in relief or figures modelled by hand; but it could
also be completed with colour in the form either of a plain tint or a
picture, and this colour would be applied by the fresco process.

Painting ‘a fresco’ means painting on the freshly laid and still wet
final coat of plaster. The pigments are mixed with nothing but pure
water, and the palette of the artist is limited by the fact that
practically speaking only the earth colours, such as the ochres, can be
used with safety; even the white has to be made from lime—the Italians
called it ‘bianco San Giovanni’—as lead white, called ‘biacca,’ is
inadmissible. Vegetable and metallic pigments are as a rule excluded
from use. The reason why pigments mixed with water only, without any gum
or similar binding material, adhere when dry to the plaster is a
chemical one. The explanation of it was given by Otto Dönner in an
Appendix to Helbig’s _Campanische Wandgemälde_, Leipzig, 1868, and is to
be found also in Professor Church’s _Chemistry of Paints and Painting_.
When limestone is burnt into lime all the carbonic acid is driven out of
it. The result of the slaking of the lime by water, which is preliminary
to its use in plastering, is that the material becomes saturated with an
aqueous solution of hydrate of lime. This hydrate of lime rises to the
surface of the plaster, and when the pigment is laid on, to use
Professor Church’s phrasing, it ‘diffuses into the paint, soaks it
through and through, and gradually takes up carbonic acid from the air,
thus producing carbonate of lime, which acts as the binding material.’
To put the matter in simpler language, lime when burnt loses its
carbonic acid, but gradually recovers it from the air, and incidentally
this carbonic acid, as it is re-absorbed, serves to fix the colours used
in the fresco process. It is a mistake to speak of the pigment ‘sinking
into the wet plaster.’ It remains on the surface, but it is fixed there
in a sort of crystalline skin of carbonate of lime which has formed on
the surface of the plaster. This crystalline skin gives a certain
metallic lustre to the surface of a fresco painting, and is sufficient
to protect the colours from the action of external moisture, though on
the other hand there are many causes chemical and physical that may
contribute to their decay. If however proper care have been taken
throughout, and atmospheric conditions remain favourable, the fresco
painting is quite permanent.

The process of painting, it will be easily seen, must be a rapid one,
for it must be completed before the plaster has time to dry, which it
would do if left for a night. Hence only a certain portion of the work
in hand is undertaken on each day and only so much of the final coat of
plaster, called by the Italians ‘intonaco,’ is laid by the plasterer as
will correspond to the amount the artist expects to cover before
nightfall. At the end of the day’s work, the plaster not painted on is
cut away round the outline of the work actually finished, and the next
morning a fresh patch is laid on and joined up as neatly as possible to
that of yesterday. In the making of these joints the ancient plasterer
seems to have been more expert than the Italians of the Renaissance, and
the seams are often pretty apparent in frescoes of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries, so that they can be discerned in a good photograph.
When they can be followed, they furnish information, which it is often
interesting to possess, as to the amount that has been executed in a
single day.

To prevent loss of time it is necessary to have a full-sized cartoon in
readiness so that the drawing can be at once transferred to the coat of
wet plaster as soon as it has been laid. Vasari speaks of these cartoons
in § 77, in the second chapter on Painting, ante, p. 213. The use of the
iron stylus for impressing the lines of the drawing on the wet plaster
is to be traced in some of the later Italian frescoes. Another process
for carrying out the transfer was called ‘pouncing.’ For this the lines
of the cartoon were pricked and dabbed with a muslin bag filled with
powdered black, so as to show in dotted contours upon the wall.

Vasari is eloquent, both here and in a passage in his ‘Proemio’ to his
whole work, on the judgement, skill, and decision necessary to paint
successfully in fresco under these conditions and within these limits of
time. The ideal of the process was to complete each portion absolutely
at the one sitting. When the wall is once dry, any retouching,
reinforcement of shadows, and the like, must be done ‘a secco,’ ‘on the
dry,’ that is with pigments mixed with size, egg, or some other tempera,
which will bind them to the surface. These after-touches lack the
quality of texture and permanence of the true fresco (buon fresco). If
size or gum have been used, they can be washed off the wall, and having
been laid on a dry surface by a kind of hatching process they are harsh
and ‘liney.’ It is often possible in good large-scale photographs to
distinguish between the broad soft touches of the frescoist laid on
while the ground was wet, and the hard dry hatchings of the subsequent
retouching.

The illustration, Plate XV, has been chosen as a good example of the
fresco technique. It shows the head of Mary from Luini’s fresco of the
‘Marriage of the Virgin’ at Saronno. The painting is executed in a broad
and facile manner, the tints and tones which give the colour and the
modelling being deftly fused while the whole is wet, and the darker
details, such as the locks of the hair, are struck over the moist ground
so that the touches seem soft and have no appearance of hatching. The
light-coloured leaves of the garland round the head show the same
softness, and they are laid in with a full brush in thick pigment. On
the other hand there are marks of retouching where the shadows round the
eyes, the corner of the mouth, etc., have been reinforced ‘a secco,’
perhaps by a restorer. These show as thin, hard, wiry lines, and have
quite a different appearance from the work on the wet plaster.

It was only in the palmy days of Italian painting, from the latter part
of the fifteenth century onwards, that artists were able to dispense
almost entirely with retouching. In the earlier period of Giotto and his
successors much more was left to be done ‘a secco,’ but the Giottesques
fully understood the importance of doing all they could on the wet
plaster, and Cennini in the 67th chapter of his _Trattato_ insists that
‘to paint on the fresh, that is a fixed portion on each day, is the best
and most permanent way of laying on the colour, and the pleasantest
method of painting.’ The truth is that the technique of ‘buon fresco,’
while apparently understood by the Romans, was lost in the west during
the early middle ages, though it may have been maintained in the
Byzantine cloisters. In the course of the progressive improvements in
the art of painting in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the old
technique was gradually recovered. Recently Ernst Berger, in his
_Beiträge zur Entwicklungs-Geschichte der Maltechnik_, I and II,
München, 2nd ed., 1904, has denied that the Romans used the fresco
technique, and has evolved an ingenious theory of a derivation of fresco
painting from the mural work in mosaic which flourished in the Early
Christian centuries. See note, ante, p. 255. Into the question thus
raised it is not necessary to enter, because no reader of Vitruvius or
Pliny can have the shadow of a doubt that they knew and were referring
to the fresco process. The words of Vitruvius (VII, iii) ‘Colores autem,
udo tectorio cum diligenter sunt inducti, ideo non remittunt sed sunt
perpetuo permanentes, quod calx,’ etc., and those of Pliny (XXXV, 49)
‘udo inlini recusant’ employed of certain colours which are known not to
be admissible in fresco are quite conclusive on this point, and it does
not advance science to build up elaborate theories on a denial of
obvious facts.

[Illustration:

PLATE XV

HEAD OF MARY, FROM LUINI’S FRESCO OF THE ‘MARRIAGE OF THE VIRGIN’ AT
SARONNO

(From a photograph by Giacomo Brogi)
]

TEMPERA PAINTING.

[§ 82, _Painting in Tempera_, ante, p. 223.]

In his appreciation of technical processes Vasari, it will be seen,
reserves his enthusiasm for fresco painting, but gives oil the advantage
over tempera (ante, p. 230) in that it (1) ‘kindles the colours,’ i.e.,
gives them greater brilliancy; (2) enables the artist to blend his
pigments on the panel or canvas so as to secure a melting, or as the
Italians say a ‘sfumato’ or ‘misty’ effect; (3) admits of a force and
liveliness in execution which makes the figures seem in relief upon the
surface, and finally (4), as he says at the beginning of chapter VII, is
a great convenience, ‘una gran comodità all’arte della pittura.’ The
only corresponding advantages on the side of tempera, as detailed in §
82, ante, p. 223 f., are the facts that all pigments can be used in it,
and that the same media serve for work on grounded or ungrounded panels
or on the dry plaster of walls; and that paintings in tempera are very
lasting. When Vasari came to write of his own works at the end of the
_Lives_ in the second edition, his conscience seems a little to have
smitten him, and he gives the process a word of special commendation. He
speaks of using it for some mural paintings in his private house which
he had just built at Arezzo, and says, ‘I have always reverenced the
memory and the works of the ancients, and seeing that this method of
colouring “a tempera” has fallen out of use, I conceived the desire of
rescuing it from oblivion. Hence I did all this work in tempera, a
process that certainly does not merit to be despised or neglected’
(_Opere_, VII, 686).

If antiquity and wide diffusion be criteria of rank among painting
processes, then tempera may claim the first place of all. The Spaniard
Pacheco, the father-in-law and teacher of Velasquez, remarks on the
veneration due to it because it had its birthday with art itself. As a
fact all the wall paintings in ancient Egypt and Babylonia and Mycenaean
Greece, all the mummy-cases and papyrus rolls in the first-named
country, are executed in tempera, and the same is probably true of all
the wall paintings in Italian tombs, as well as of the lost mural work
of Polygnotus and his school, and the panel paintings of all the Greek
artists save those who, in the later period after Alexander, adopted
encaustic. Though fresco was known as a mural process to the Romans it
was not used in the Early Christian catacomb paintings, nor in the
mediaeval wall paintings north of the Alps, for all these were in
tempera. For panel painting, both in the East and the West, save for a
doubtful and in any case limited use of oil, tempera was in constant
employment till in the fifteenth century it began to be superseded by
the new oil media popularized by the van Eycks. Even then tempera
maintained its ground, and it is not always realized that artists like
Mantegna, Botticelli and Dürer were as a rule in their panel work
tempera painters. In the case of mural work at any period fresco can
really never have wholly superseded tempera, for fresco can only be
worked on fresh plaster, while the artist must often have to decorate
walls already plastered and long ago dry. In this case there would be a
choice between replastering for fresco and the more economical
alternative of employing some form of tempera.

It is however with tempera painting on panels rather than with mural
work that we are here concerned. Vasari’s summary treatment of the
process in § 82 ante, p. 223, contrasts with Cennini’s far more
elaborate directions, and is a measure of the destructive effect of the
inroad of oil painting on the more venerable system. At the outset of
his _Trattato_ Cennini gives a list of the processes the panel painter
has to go through. The preliminary ones, before painting actually
begins, will take him six years to learn and Cennini needs about a
hundred chapters to describe them. The artificer must know how to grind
colours, to use glue, to fasten the linen on the panel, to prime with
gesso, to scrape and smooth the gesso, to make reliefs in gesso, to put
on bole, to gild, to burnish, to mix temperas, to lay on grounding
colours, to transfer by pouncing through pricked lines, to sharpen lines
with the stylus, to indent with little patterns, to carve, to colour, to
ornament the panel, and finally to varnish it! All this suggests, what
was actually the case, that the process of tempera painting was a very
precise and methodical one, proceeding by regular stages according to
traditional methods and recipes. The result was from the point of view
of modern painting something very limited, but within its range, and in
the hands of artists of the fifteenth century, it was a very finished
and exquisite artistic product, one indeed to which we return with
ever-renewed delight after our yearly visits to the Salon or to
Burlington House. A certain natural reaction, that some artists of
to-day have felt against the slashing impressionistic style, has led to
a revival of the old precise technique, which is now cultivated in
London in a Society of Painters in Tempera. It should be remembered that
it is perfectly possible to paint ‘a tempera’ in a free and loose
fashion with a full impasto and individualistic handling. If dry
powdered colours be mixed with the yolk or whole inside of an egg
without dilution, the resulting pigment is as full of body as oil paint
and can be manipulated in the same fashion. What is generally understood
however by the tempera style is the painting of the fifteenth century on
panel, in which, as Cennini indicates, the egg would be diluted with
about its own bulk of water. This rendered the pigment comparatively
thin and as a result transparent, and allowed coat to be laid over coat,
so that Cennini contemplates seven or eight or even ten coats of colour
tempered with egg yolk diluted with water. These are laid over an
underpainting in a monochrome of terra verte, and are so transparent
that even at the end the ground will remain slightly visible (c. 147)
and so help the modelling. It is however a difficulty in tempera that it
dries very quickly, too quickly to admit of that fusing of the tints
while the impasto is wet, which Vasari mentions as an advantage in the
oil process, § 83, ante, p. 230. Hence the usual ways to model in
tempera are (1) to superimpose coats varying in tone, and (2), to use
hatching, a process very observable in early Italian temperas, such as
some ascribed to Botticelli in the National Gallery. Another drawback,
not so marked however in egg tempera as in the size tempera with a basis
of whitening used by scenic artists, is that the colours dry lighter
than they appear when wet. Those who in the present day are enamoured of
the tempera process say that these inconveniences do not trouble them,
while they delight in the purity of the tints, the precision of the
forms, which it enables them to preserve, and in a certainty and
reposefulness which seem to belong to it. One of these writes as the
result of her experience ‘In tempera you work with solid paints, and
blending must be extremely rapid, or a substitute for this must be found
in thin washes or in hatching. Crisp work is again a great beauty, but
from the rapid drying of the paint in the brush, and its un-tenacious
quality, it is a difficulty. Vasari is right in saying oil is a great
_convenience_, but its introduction does not seem to have been in all
respects a gain.’

OIL PAINTING.

[§ 83, _Oil Painting, its Discovery and Early History_, ante, p. 226.]

The bare fact of the invention of oil painting by John of Bruges,
recorded by Vasari in 1550 in chapter VII of his ‘Introduction’ to
Painting, is in the Life of Antonello da Messina, in the same edition,
retold in the personal anecdotic vein that accords with Vasari’s
literary methods. Here the ‘invention’ followed on the splitting of a
particular tempera panel, varnished in oil, that according to
traditional practice van Eyck had put out in the sun to dry. The said
artist then turned his attention to devising some means for avoiding
such mischances for the future, and, in Vasari’s words, ‘being not less
dissatisfied with the varnish than with the process of tempera painting,
he began to devise means for preparing a kind of varnish which should
dry in the shade, so as to avoid having to place the pictures in the
sun. Having made experiments with many things both pure and in
compounds, he at last found that linseed and nut oil, among the many
which he had tested, were more drying than all the rest. These
therefore, boiled with other mixtures of his, made him the varnish which
he had long desired.’ This varnish, Vasari goes on to say, he mixed with
the colours and found that it ‘lit up the colours so powerfully that it
gave a gloss of itself,’ without any after-coat of varnish.

If we ask What is the truth about this ‘invention’ of van Eyck, or of
the brothers van Eyck (see ante, p. 226, note 1), the first answer of
any one knowing alike the earlier history of the oil medium and Vasari’s
anecdotal predilections would be ‘there was no invention at all.’ The
drying properties of linseed and nut oil, and the way to increase these,
had been known for hundreds of years, as had also the preparation of an
oil varnish with sandarac resin. There is question too of a colourless
spirit varnish, and of the process of mixing varnish with oil for a
painting medium, in documents prior to the fifteenth century. The
technique of oil painting is described by Theophilus, about 1100 A.D.;
in the _Hermeneia_ or Mount Athos Handbook; and in the _Trattato_ of
Cennini, while numerous accounts and records of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries establish incontestably, at any rate for the lands
north of the Alps, the employment of oils and varnishes for artistic
wall and panel painting. The epitaphs for the tombs of the two van Eycks
make no mention of such a feat as Vasari ascribes to them, and it is
quite open to any one to argue, as is the case with M. Dalbon in his
recent _Origines de la Peinture à l’Huile_, Paris, 1904, that it was no
special improvement in technique that brought the van Eycks their fame
in connection with oil painting, but rather an artistic improvement that
consisted in using a traditional process to execute pictures which in
design, finish, beauty, and glow of colour, far surpassed anything
previously produced in the northern schools. There is a good deal of
force in this view, but at the same time it is impossible to deny to the
van Eycks the credit of technical improvements. They had a reputation
for this long before the time of Vasari. In 1456, fifteen years after
the death of the younger brother Jan, Bartolomeo Facio of Spezia wrote a
tract _De Viris Illustribus_ in which he spoke of John van Eyck as
specially ‘learned in those arts which contributed to the making of a
picture, and on that account credited with the discovery of many things
in the properties of colours, which he had learned from ancient
traditions recorded by Pliny and other writers.’ The Florentine
Filarete, c. 1464, knew of the repute of Jan van Eyck in connection with
the oil technique. Hence we may credit the van Eycks with certain
technical improvements on traditional practices and preparations in the
oil technique, though these can hardly be termed the ‘invention of oil
painting,’ while their artistic achievement was great enough to force
into prominence whatever in the technical department they had actually
accomplished.

The question of the exact technique of the van Eycks, in its relation to
the oil practice before their time, is one that has occupied many minds,
and is not yet satisfactorily settled. Most of those who have enunciated
theories on the subject have proceeded by guess-work, and have suggested
media and processes that may possibly have been used, but for the
employment of which there is no direct evidence. The most recent
suggestion is that of Principal Laurie of Edinburgh, and this is founded
on scientific analysis. The experiments with oils and varnishes and
other media, which this investigator has been carrying on for many
years, have taught him that the most secure substance for ‘locking-up’
pigments as the phrase goes, that is for shielding them from the access
of moisture or deleterious gases, is a resin, like our Canada balsam,
that may be used as a varnish or painting medium when dissolved in an
essential oil. As he believes he can detect in the van Eycks’ extant
pictures pigments that would only have lasted had they been shielded by
a preparation of the kind, he conjectures that the use of a natural pine
balsam, with probably a small proportion of drying oil and rendered more
workable by emulsifying with egg, may be the real secret of which so
many investigators have been in search. For example, the green used for
the robe of John Baptist and other figures in the ‘Adoration of the
Lamb’ at Ghent can be matched, as we lately found by experiment, with
verdigris (dissolved in pine balsam which is a much finer green than
verdigris ground in oil) and yellow ochre or orpiment, and the only
known way of rendering verdigris stable is to dissolve it in these pine
balsams, according to a recipe that is actually preserved in the de
Mayerne MS., which Berger has lately printed in full in the fourth Part
of his _Beiträge_.

Be this as it may, one thing is certain, that the oil painting of the
van Eycks and other painters of the early Flemish school did not differ
greatly if at all in its artistic effect from the tempera that had
preceded it, and that is described in the last note. Oil painting, in
the sense that we attach to the term, is really the creation not of the
Flemings, nor of the Florentines and other Italians who were the first
to try experiments with the new Flemish process, but of Giovanni Bellini
and the other Venetians who adopted the oil medium in the last quarter
of the fifteenth century. According to Vasari, ante, p. 229, and _Life_
of Antonello da Messina, _Opere_, II, 563 f., it was the last named
artist who acquired the secret of the invention of van Eyck through a
visit to Flanders, and brought it to Venice. Vasari has been proved to
be wrong in the chronology he gives of the life of Antonello, who was
born about 1444 and was therefore much younger than Vasari makes him,
and many critics have been disposed to relegate his whole account of the
Sicilian painter to the realm of myth. The most recent authority on the
subject however, Dr von Wurtzbach, in his _Niederländisches
Künstler-Lexicon_, vindicates Vasari’s accuracy in the main points of
the visit to Flanders and the introduction of the new process at Venice,
which event may be fixed about 1475. It was taken up with avidity by the
Bellini and by other Venetians of the time, and it is to the younger
Bellini more than to any other painter that is due the apprehension of
the possibilities latent in the oil medium. Giovanni Bellini began to
manipulate the oil pigments with a freedom and a feeling for their
varied qualities of which earlier oil painters had possessed little
idea, and the way was prepared for the splendid unfolding of the
technique in the hands of Giorgione, Palma, and Titian.

ENRICHED FAÇADES.

[§§ 90–92, ante, p. 240 f.]

The external decorations, of which Vasari writes in chapters XI, XII,
and XIII of his ‘Introduction’ to Painting, have come down to us in a
very dilapidated condition, but there are still to be seen specimens of
all the work he there describes, as well as of the decorative carvings
in stone noticed in the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, under the head
of Travertine (at Rome) § 12, Istrian stone (at Venice) § 15, and Pietra
forte (at Florence) § 17; ante, pp. 51, 56, 60. The most common
technique is monochrome painting ‘a fresco’ on the plaster, and a good
deal that passes as sgraffito is really only painted work in which there
is no relief. One of the best existing displays is that on the façade of
the Palazzo Ricci, at Rome, a little to the west of the Palazzo Farnese.
Here on the top floor are painted trophies of armour in bronze colour
(ante, p. 241) with grotesques (ante, p. 244) in yellow and brown on the
story below. On the _piano nobile_ there is a frieze of figures in
grisaille monochrome, with some single figures on a larger scale between
the windows. Above the door is another frieze of figures on a black
ground. More extensive, but less varied and not so well preserved, are
the figure compositions on the back of the Palazzo Massimi, in the
Piazza dei Massimi, at Rome, where the whole wall is covered with figure
monochromes on a large scale on dark grounds. There are many more
fragmentary specimens, as in the Via Maschera d’ Oro, No. 7; the Via
Pellegrino, No. 66, etc. The work of Maccari, _Roma, Graffiti e
Chiaroscuri, Secolo XV, XVI_, gives a large collection of reproductions
of work that has now to a great extent perished.

Sgraffito-work, in which the effect is produced by differences of plane
in the plaster itself (see ante, p. 243), resists the weather much
better than mere painting, but it takes longer to execute and was not so
much used as the more rapidly wrought fresco. The Palazzo Montalvo, in
the Borgo degli Albizzi at Florence, offers a good example of a
compromise. The work, at any rate in the lower part, is not true
sgraffito as the plaster in the backgrounds is not scraped away, but the
outlines of the figures and ornaments are marked by lines incised in the
plaster, the brush, with light and dark tints, accomplishing the rest.
On the other hand the house of Bianca Capello, 26 in the Via Maggio, is
decorated in the true sgraffito technique as described by Vasari, ante,
p. 243. The same may be said of a house in Rome, Via Maschera d’ Oro,
No. 9, where the difference of the two planes of plaster is about an
eighth of an inch. This work is clogged up with buff lime-wash and would
be worth cleaning, as it seems in fair preservation.

Of modelled stucco figure designs and grotesques the Cortile of the
Palazzo Spada, near the Campo di Fiore at Rome, presents the most
extensive display. A more interesting piece of work will however be
found not far away in the Via de’ Banchi Vecchi, Nos. 22–24, the house
of the goldsmith Pietro Crivelli of Milan, of the first half of the
sixteenth century. Here between the windows of the first floor are
boldly designed trophies of arms carved in travertine, while between and
above the windows of the second floor there are figures and grotesques
effectively modelled in stucco. These are outlined with an incised line
in the stucco and there is no colour. For free but not over-florid
Renaissance enrichment the façade is noteworthy. The abundant stone
carving at Florence in the form of the ‘stemmi’ has been already
referred to, ante, p. 61.

STUCCO ‘GROTESQUES.’

[§ 92, _Grotesques or fanciful devices painted or modelled on walls_,
ante, p. 244.]

Vasari touches on the subject of plaster work in all three
‘Introductions,’ to Architecture (§ 29), to Sculpture (§ 73) and to
Painting (§ 92). In the former passages he deals with the material
itself and with what may be called its utilitarian employment; in the
last he has in view the artistic forms into which the material can be
moulded, and which he calls by the curious name ‘grotesques.’ What these
‘grotesques’ are will presently be seen, but it is worth while first
casting a glance back on the artistic use of plaster in its historical
aspects.

It is not a little remarkable that although all the great ancient
nations were familiar with this material, it was not till the late Greek
and Greco-Roman periods that any general use was made of it as an
independent vehicle of artistic effect. The Egyptians coated their walls
with plaster of exquisite quality, which they brought to a fine, almost
a polished, surface for their tempera paintings. The inhabitants of
Mesopotamia protected their mud-brick walls with thin coats of lime
plaster, sometimes only about a quarter of an inch in thickness but
perfect in durability and weather-resisting properties. The Phoenicians
at Carthage plastered the interior walls of their tombs, and the
expression ‘whited sepulchres’ shows that Jewish tombs were coated in
the same fashion. All through the historical period of Greek art plaster
was at the command of the architect, to cover, and fill up inequalities
in, the rough stone of which so many of the Hellenic temples were built,
and fragments of the pre-Persian buildings of the Athenian Acropolis,
still preserved on the rock, show how finely finished and how adhesive
was this stucco film. So far as we know however none of the peoples just
named seem to have modelled in the material, or used it for any of the
decorative purposes for which the Greeks at any rate employed so largely
the material of burnt clay. The exception is in the case of the older
Aegean peoples, for the Cretans of Knossos made, as all the world now
knows, a most effective artistic use of modelled stucco. This Aegean
work may be connected technically with Egypt, for in the latest Egyptian
period a considerable use was made of modelled plaster for sepulchral
purposes, in the form of mummy-cases in which the features of the
deceased, with headdress, jewels, etc., were represented in this
material. The technique may go back in Egypt to the remoter times and
may have been carried thence to the Aegean lands. The process however
was apparently not inherited by the historical Greeks, who did not begin
to use plaster freely and artistically till the later Hellenistic or
Greco-Roman period.

Some late Greek private houses of the second or first century B.C., on
Delos, show a beginning of modelled plaster work in the form of drafted
ashlar stones imitated in the material, and it may be conjectured that
the technique was developed at Alexandria, for the earliest existing
mature works in the style, the famous stucco reliefs and mouldings found
near the Villa Farnesina at Rome, resemble in many respects the
so-called ‘Hellenistic’ reliefs, with landscape motives, that are
ascribed to the school of Alexandria. In these stuccoes, now preserved
in the Terme Museum at Rome, there are bands of enrichment stamped with
wooden moulds, after the fashion described by Vasari in the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture, § 73, that enclose fields wherein figure
compositions with landscape adjuncts, or single figures, have been
modelled by hand. Many of these last are of great beauty of form, and
the whole have been executed with the lightest but firmest touch and the
most delightful freedom. Some ceiling decorations in two tombs on the
Via Latina, of the second century A.D., are almost as good in execution,
and are interesting as giving in typical form ancient models that have
been much copied at the Renaissance and in more modern times.

Early Christian artists, both in the West and in the East kept up the
artistic use of stamped or modelled stucco. The Arabs inherited the
technique, and at Cairo, and in the East and in Spain, they made a very
extensive and tasteful use of the tractable material in their own style
of artistic decoration. This style, like that of Byzantium, from which
in great part it was derived; and that of the familiar Indian work in
the exquisite marble-dust plaster or chunam, is chiefly surface
decoration, without much plastic feeling, and relying mainly on
geometrical, or at any rate inorganic, motives and forms. Bold modelling
of forms accentuated by light and shade, as we are kindly informed by Dr
James Burgess, does occur in old Buddhist work in northern India, and
some excellent examples have recently been published in _Ancient Khotan_
(Chinese Turkistan) Oxford, 1907, vol. I, p. 587 and pl. liii ff. The
work however belongs essentially to the West rather than to the East,
and the middle ages in Western Europe produced some remarkable works in
this style. There is some modelled stuccowork of early date in the
Baptistry at Ravenna, but the most interesting examples of the period in
Italy are the large figures of saints and the archivolt enriched with
very bold and effective vine scrolls, that are to be seen in the
interior of the little oratory of S. Maria in Valle (or Peltrude’s
chapel) at Cividale in Friuli. These very remarkable works, with which
may be connected the stuccoes of the altar ciborium at S. Ambrogio,
Milan, date about 1100, and may be paralleled by similar figures,
equally plastic in treatment, and of about the same period, north of the
Alps, in St. Michael’s at Hildesheim. Signor Cattaneo calls the Cividale
work ‘Byzantine,’ but life-sized plastically-treated figures in high
relief represent a form of decorative art that was not practised at
Byzantium, and the work, like a good deal else that is too lightly
dubbed ‘Byzantine,’ is no doubt of western origin, and is a proof that
the tradition of modelling in plaster was handed down without a break
through the mediaeval period.

At the Renaissance the tradition was revived, and this style of
decoration was developed in Tuscany and North Italy, while one of its
most conspicuous triumphs was the adornment by Italian artists in the
first half of the sixteenth century of the Galerie François Premier and
Escalier du Roi at Fontainebleau in France. It spread also to our own
country, where artists of the Italian school carried out work in the
same thoroughly plastic style in the now destroyed palace of Nonsuch,
under the patronage of Henry VIII.

This is not however the style that Vasari has in view when he speaks of
‘stucco grotesques.’ What he means is an imitation of ancient stamped
and modelled plaster decoration, of the type of that represented in the
tombs on the Via Latina just referred to. Here the scale is small,
though the work may cover large spaces, and the design is on the whole
of a light and fanciful kind. The impulse to it dates from the early
years of the sixteenth century when considerable discoveries were made
at Rome, in the Baths of Titus and elsewhere, of antique apartments or
sepulchral chambers decorated in this fashion. As these interiors, when
discovered, were all underground they were called ‘caves’ or ‘grottoes,’
and for this reason, as Benvenuto Cellini informs us in the 6th chapter
of his _Autobiography_, the decoration characteristic of them was called
‘grotesque.’ The fact that the designs were so commonly of the fantastic
or so-called ‘Pompeian’ order has given to the word ‘grotesque’ its
modern meaning of bizarre or semi-ludicrous.

According to Vasari, the painter Morto da Feltro (c. 1474–c. 1519) was
the first to study these antique decorations. ‘Our first thanks and
commendations’ he says (_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, V, 205 f.) ‘are due to
Morto, who was the first to discover and restore the kind of painting
called “arabesques” and “grotesques,” seeing that they were for the most
part hidden among the subterraneous portions of the ruins of Rome,
whence he brought them, devoting all his study to this branch of art.’
He spent many months also, Vasari tells us, at Tivoli among the ruins of
Hadrian’s Villa, and made a journey to Pozzuoli near Naples, all on the
same quest. Stucco reliefs in this revived antique style were used at
the beginning of the sixteenth century by Pinturicchio in the
Appartamenti Borgia in the Vatican, and from that time onwards they
become exceedingly common.

TARSIA WORK, OR WOOD INLAYS.

[§ 100, _Inlays in Wood_, ante, p. 262.]

The covering of one kind of material by another, for reasons of a
constructive or an aesthetic kind, is so primitive and so universal that
Gottfried Semper made it the fundamental principle of decoration in
general, and developed this view in his famous ‘Bekleidungstheorie,’
which dominates _der Stil_. Semper’s philosophy of art was sufficiently
profound for him to see that this process is not to be accused of
insincerity because the more costly or beautiful material appears only
on the outside, while the mass of the structure may be of commoner
fabric. The materials in question are as a rule limited in quantity and
it would be bad economy to employ them in positions where their beauty
would not be seen. To build a thick wall of rare finely-veined and
coloured marble in solid blocks would be to behave like degenerate Roman
Emperors. Such material is far more suitably treated when it is exposed
in thin layers over as large a superficial area as possible. Hence
though there is nothing in the world to equal the fine ‘isodomon’
masonry of the earlier Greeks, which is the same throughout, there is
much to be said in justification of the late Greek and Roman technique,
so largely used in mediaeval Italy, of incrusting a common material with
one of finer grain and colour.

In the case of wood inlays, it may be claimed for the craft that it
originates in material need and not in any aesthetic considerations.
Wood, of which the grain always runs one way, needs sometimes to be
overlaid, braced, and prevented from warping by a slip of the same
material placed with the grain at right angles to the first, after the
fashion seen in our common drawing-boards. The great variety in colours
and markings shown by different woods must however at a very early date
have led to the employment of inlays and veneers for reasons of artistic
effect, and in this craft the old Oriental peoples were proficient. It
is worthy of notice that some Greek wood inlays have survived, and may
be seen in the Kertch room at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. The
motives of all early inlays are either geometrical patterns or simple
conventional ornament, like the olive sprays which are represented in
the Greek work just mentioned. In these forms the craft was preserved
through the mediaeval period, and though in the West, at any rate north
of the Alps, the mediaeval epoch was one in which ornamentation was
plastic rather than graphic, that is to say, in carving more often than
in inlay, yet in Moorish lands, and in parts of Italy, inlays, both in
stone and wood, were freely developed.

The history of Italian tarsia work takes a new start with the beginning
of the Renaissance, and it became as Bode has termed it ‘a true child of
the art of the Quattrocento’ or fifteenth century. The earliest examples
seem to be in geometrical schemes, influenced by the so-called ‘Cosmati’
work, or inlays of small pieces of coloured stones and gilded pastes, so
common in Italy from the twelfth to the fourteenth century. The painted
borders to the frescoes of Giotto and other pre-Renaissance masters
imitate this kind of work and show how familiar it must have been. Next
come conventional ornaments in the so-called ‘Italian’ manner,
consisting in acanthus scrolls, swags of fruit and flowers, with
classical motives such as horns of plenty and candelabra, among which
are soon introduced ‘putti’ or Cupids, terminal figures, etc. As the
fifteenth century advanced there was developed the curious _penchant_,
noticed ante, p. 264, for introducing perspective delineations of
buildings and articles of furniture into the tarsia designs. Vasari in
his Life of Filippo Brunelleschi _Opere_, ed. Milanesi, II, 333 (see
also the text ante, p. 262), distinctly intimates that this was due to
the influence of this artist, whose enthusiasm for perspective studies
is well known. The only existing works in wood inlay which might claim
to be designed or inspired by Brunelleschi are those in the old sacristy
of S. Lorenzo at Florence, but these do not display perspectives, and
the subjects comprise only ‘putti’ with candelabra, rosettes, and other
simple ornaments. The influence of Brunelleschi on the advancement of
the study of perspective was however so great, that Vasari’s view of his
general responsibility for the perspectives is credible.

With the perspective designs of the latter part of the fifteenth and
beginning of the sixteenth century, was developed the elaborate
delineation of objects of still-life, as well as more ambitious work in
the representation of the human figure, alone or in groups. These inlays
were abundantly displayed in wall panelling and on the doors of presses,
and more especially on the backs and frames of choir stalls in the
churches. It is characteristic of Italian decoration as opposed to that
prevailing at an earlier date north of the Alps, to find choir stalls,
which in northern churches are made the occasion of the most splendid
display of wood carving in the boldest architectural and plastic styles
which the world has to show, decorated in Italy for the most part in a
pictorial style with flat inlays.

The number of extant examples, both in the case of presses and of choir
stalls, is so great that no enumeration is possible, and the reader is
referred for a critical account of the chief monuments of the art to the
small book by Dr Scherer, _Technik und Geschichte der Intarsia_,
Leipzig, 1891. The artists who fostered the work were also very
numerous, and represent many centres in the northern parts of Italy. We
learn for instance that in Florence alone in the year 1478 there were no
fewer than 84 _botteghe_ where tarsia work was in full practice. The
names actually mentioned by Vasari will suffice to represent the chief
phases of the craft. If Brunelleschi may have started the idea of
perspective designs, these were carried out to great perfection by Fra
Giovanni da Verona, whose master-works, the stalls and presses in S.
Maria in Organo at Verona, dating from about 1500 onwards, are among the
most famous examples of the kind. Here are perspectives of buildings and
furniture, objects of still-life, and the like, with geometrical
patterns in the framings and on the dado. In figure work Benedetto da
Majano, whom Vasari mentions, and more especially his brother Giuliano
da Majano, were masters of the very first rank, and the examples left by
the latter on the presses of the sacristy of the Duomo at Florence, and
on the door leading to the Sala d’ Udienza in the Palazzo Vecchio, are
masterpieces of technique and style. At a later date near the middle of
the century, the artist mentioned by Vasari towards the end of his
chapter XVII, Fra Damiano of Bergamo, a pupil of the same Venetian
school from which proceeded Fra Giovanni of Verona, executed at S.
Domenico in Bologna a series of works in tarsia that represent the
furthest development in a pictorial direction that the craft ever
attained.

[Illustration:

PLATE XVI

EXAMPLE OF TARSIA WORK

S. Zenobi, by Giuliano da Majano, in Opera del Duomo, Florence
]

Of this display however Dr Scherer aptly writes (p. 80) that, ‘whoever
demands from wood an effect similar to that of a picture, sets it in
ignorance of its nature to tasks that are beyond its capabilities, and
constrains material and technique to exaggerated efforts which are
contradictory to their character. This is the fundamental error that
clings to all the works of the much-belauded Fra Damiano and is
calculated seriously to obscure his greatness.’ The development of
tarsia work was in the direction of pictorial effects. Though purely
decorative patterns of a geometrical or conventional kind were always
used, they tended as the art advanced to be confined to borders and
subsidiary parts of a design, while the principal fields were
pictorially treated. The introduction of perspectives naturally led to
the accentuation of the third dimension of objects, and in still-life
compositions modelling and shading were deemed essential. The human
figure, the use of which increased greatly as the fifteenth century
advanced, was given its plastic roundness which it was assuming in the
contemporary frescoes. Conventional leafage, etc., was no longer treated
for the effect of a mere flat pattern. In the latter part of the century
the figure work of Giuliano da Majano shows how far in this direction
the art could be carried while still preserving its sincerity as a
mosaic of natural woods. In this work the utmost advantage is taken of
the varieties shown by woods in colour and texture, without dependence
on artificial colouring matters, and those pictorial refinements over
which Vasari sings his usual paean, but which really prefigure the
decline of the art. A close examination of a specimen of Giuliano’s
inlays of about 1470–80, such as the S. Zenobi now in the Opera del
Duomo at Florence (see Plate XVI), shows extraordinary skill and
patience in the laborious work. The outlines are marked by thin strips
of black wood; the staff which the Saint holds in his hand, though it is
not half-an-inch broad, is modelled in light and shade with no fewer
than six parallel strips of wood varying in light and dark. The hands
are carefully modelled in inlays. The mouth of the figure on the right
of the Saint has one piece for the upper lip and a lighter piece for the
lower in which the two lights on the lobes are let in with separate
pieces. The shadow between the lips and the light on the lower edge of
the lower lip are inserted with strips of dark and light tinted wood. In
one of the most interesting works of the da Majano brothers, the two
portrait figures of Dante and Petrarch, on the door leading into the
Sala d’ Udienza in the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, the face of the
older poet is deeply furrowed, and in order to prevent the inlaid
streaks appearing too hard and ‘liney’ they are made up of an infinite
number of little morsels of wood the size and shape of millet grains,
each one glued down into its place. Such work impresses the spectator by
its sincerity and earnestness as well as by its technical mastery.

The use of artificial colouring matters, over and above the burning
which was the first device employed to give an effect of shading in
special places, destroys for us this aspect of sincerity. The material
is no longer allowed to express itself in its own character, and taste
revolts from the work as it does from tapestry in which pigments have
been used to give details for which stitches should in the theory of the
work suffice. The case is different from that of the coloured wax
medallions noticed ante, p. 188 f., where the scale is so small, and the
detailed representation of nature so essential a part of the work, that
waxes coloured in the piece could hardly be made to avail.

THE STAINED GLASS WINDOW.

[§ 101, _Stained Glass Windows, their Origin and History_, ante, p.
265.]

This is not a specially Italian form of the decorative art, but belongs
rather to France and north-western Europe. A proof of this may be found
in the fact that in 1436 the Florentines have to send for a worker in
glass from Lübeck in Germany to make windows for their Duomo (Gaye,
_Carteggio_, II, 441 f.), while at the beginning of the next century
Pope Julius II summons French _verriers_ to supply coloured windows for
the Vatican (see ante, p. 266, note). The art was differently regarded
north and south of the Alps, and Vasari in his account of it gives, in §
102, the tradition of the northern schools, but lets us see at the same
time, in § 101, how the Italians were accustomed to envisage the craft.

There is accordingly in his treatment a confusion between two distinct
ideals of the art, one traditional and northern, the other congenial to
an Italian painter of the sixteenth century. According to the first
ideal of the art, that on which it was founded and nurtured north of the
Alps, it depended for its effect upon coloured glass, that is upon the
varied tints of pieces of glass stained in the mass with metallic
oxides, and called by the moderns ‘pot-metal.’ These different coloured
pieces were so arranged and so treated as to give the appearance of
figures or ornaments, and to this extent the effect was pictorial, but
such a window would depend for its beauty far more on the sumptuous
display of coloured light than on any delineation of figures or objects.

The sort of window which would present itself to the Italian of the
Renaissance, as representing his ideal of the art, is rather a
transparent picture painted on glass, in which delineation is the chief
part of the effect. This is the view that Vasari has in mind, when, in §
101, he insists on transparency in the glass employed. The old glass
worker of Chartres or the Sainte Chapelle would hardly have known what
to do with transparent uncoloured glass, for this, save in pearl
borders, was not an element with which he worked. Vasari however starts
with the idea of clear glass and imagines it coloured in such a way as
to produce a transparent picture. There were two methods for this
colouring. The only satisfactory one was to paint in transparent enamel
colours which were afterwards burnt in on to the glass. This was a
process specially developed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in
Flanders, whence it was probably introduced into Italy.

The other method was to employ transparent pigments, such as were used
for ordinary painting, and to fix them on the glass by means of gum or
varnish. This method is of course a mere _pis aller_ to which no
self-respecting worker in glass would like to have recourse, and must be
regarded as merely a cheap imitation of true glass-painting in enamel
colours. That is to say, it did not _precede_, as Vasari suggests in §
101, but followed as an imitation, the development of true enamel
painting. That the two processes were in use in Italy in Vasari’s time
is shown by a contract printed by Gaye, _Carteggio_, II, 446, in which
certain windows to be executed at Arezzo in 1478 are to be ‘_cotte al
fuoco_,’ ‘burned in the fire,’ and not merely to have the colours
‘_messi a olio_,’ ‘laid on in oil paint.’

The earlier glass workers of the palmy days of the craft, from the
twelfth to the fourteenth century, in France, England, Flanders, or
Germany, aimed at different effects altogether, and their technique is
explained by Vasari in § 102, (ante, p. 268), where the whole character
of the work envisaged differs from the painted work previously in
contemplation. As is indicated in a footnote to the text, the
description of the work, which starts it will be noticed with ‘bits of
red, yellow, blue, and white glass,’ not with a clear pane, is almost
exactly what we find in Theophilus, though a little less simple, and
represents the early tradition of the mediaeval masters. Their work was
the development of an Early Christian technique. Coloured glass, which
it must be remembered is really easier to procure than glass perfectly
clear, was first used in little rounds or squares for insertion in the
holes pierced in marble or plaster slabs that filled window openings.
Such window fillings are to be seen in mosques and Byzantine churches.
The next stage was a mosaic of pieces of coloured glass arranged on a
certain scheme and perhaps displaying geometrical patterns. No specimens
of early windows of this kind seem to have survived, but they are
referred to in contemporary documents, as in the _Liber Pontificalis_,
where it is said that Leo III, 795–816, in Old St. Peter’s, ‘fenestras
de apsida ex vitro diversis coloribus conclusit.’ It is not clear
whether such mosaics, or something more pictorial, is referred to by
Abbot Gozbert of Tegernsee about the year 1000 A.D. as ‘_discoloria
picturarum vitra_,’ but about this same epoch we find it stated of
Archbishop Adalberon of Reims, who died in 989 A.D., that he supplied
his church with ‘_fenestris diversas continentibus historias_,’ which
certainly implies something more than the kaleidoscope effect of a mere
conjunction of coloured pieces. Theophilus, whose treatment of the
process shows that it was fully established at the time of his writing,
say about 1100 A.D., makes it clear wherein the innovation consisted.
The new invention was that of a pigment, of a brown colour when fused,
with which could be painted any details or shading required for
representing the forms of objects. A mere patch of pale flesh-coloured
glass the shape of a face would tell nothing, but when the features, the
locks of the hair, and the like, were painted in with this pigment then
the patch became a human countenance. In the same way a piece of red or
blue glass with some lines and shading on it became a garment, and so on
with the representation in a simple and summary fashion of the objects
necessary to constitute the sort of pictorial representation suitable to
the technique. The coloured glass remained throughout the essential
element in the effect. All the finest glass windows of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries were executed with these simple media. The later
history of the art shows as usual a progressive advance in the
importance of the pictorial element, till by the sixteenth century
coloured glass is scarcely needed, and the pictorial effect desired may
be gained by fusing pigments on to clear glass, in the way Vasari
contemplates in § 101 (ante, p. 267).

Of this Italian stained glass of the Renaissance period very good
examples are to be seen in the Laurentian Library at Florence, and a
specimen is shown on Plate XVII.

[Illustration:

PLATE XVII

PAINTED GLASS WINDOW IN THE LAURENTIAN LIBRARY, FLORENCE
]

Chapter XIII of Charles Heath Wilson’s _Life and Works of Michelangelo_
contains a good critical notice of the decorative work at the Laurentian
Library. The windows, which were not executed till long after the death
of Clement VII whose name appears on the glass, he thinks may be mainly
from the designs of Vasari’s friend Francesco Salviati, a pupil of the
glass painter Guglielmo da Marcillat. He writes of them:—‘These windows
both in design and colour are admirably suited to Italian architecture,
and offer useful lessons at the present time. Introduced into a Library
where plenty of light was indispensable, white glass prevails. There is
much yellow (silver) stain, and where colour is wanted in some parts,
pot metal is introduced, but there is not much of it. The shadows are
vigorously painted in enamel brown of a rich tone. Unlike modern painted
glass, the figures and ornaments are drawn with all the skill of an
educated artist, and it is a pleasure to look at them.’

The Victoria and Albert Museum in London affords the opportunity for a
comparison of all these different styles. There is some original glass
of the thirteenth century from the Sainte Chapelle at Paris, made of
small pieces of very richly tinted glass, coloured in the mass, the
effect being more that of a very rich and beautiful diaper pattern than
a picture; while close by may be seen a Flemish window of 1542, in which
the pieces of glass are of large size and in many cases are white, the
necessary colouring being added in different enamel pigments. The
subject is the Last Supper, and a purely pictorial result is aimed at,
the effect of colour being as a fact extremely poor.

VASARI’S DESCRIPTION OF ENAMEL WORK.

[§ 105, _Enamels over Reliefs_, ante, p. 276.]

Coloured vitreous pastes are among the most valuable materials at the
command of the decorative artist, and are employed in numerous crafts,
as for example for the glazes of keramic products including floor or
wall tiles, for painted glass windows, for glass mosaic, and for enamel
work. The glass is tinged in the mass with various metallic oxides, one
of the finest colours being a ruby red gained from gold. Silver gives
yellow, copper a blue-green, cobalt blue, manganese violet, and so on.
Tin in any form has the property of making the vitreous paste opaque.
The material is generally lustrous, and it admits of a great variety in
colours some of which are highly saturated and beautiful. It is on the
lustre and colour of the substance, more than on the pictorial designs
that can be produced by its aid, that its artistic value depends.

The difference between opaque and transparent coloured glass is the
basis of a division that can be made among the crafts which employ the
material. If the glass be kept transparent the finest possible effect is
obtained from it in the stained glass window where the colours are seen
by transmitted light. A similar effect is secured on a minute scale in
that form of enamel work called by Labarte ‘emaux à plique à jour,’ or
‘transparent cloisonné enamel,’ in which transparent coloured pastes are
fused into small apertures in metal plates. Old examples in this kind
are very rare, but modern workers seem to reproduce it without
difficulty. On the other hand transparent or more usually opaque
vitreous pastes in thin films form many of the so-called ‘glazes’ which
give the charm of lustre and colour to so many products of the potter’s
art. The most effective use of opaque coloured glass is in wall mosaic,
where it is seen by reflected light, and owes its beauty to its
lustrousness as well as to the richness and variety of its hues. Between
these two crafts of the stained glass window and mosaic comes that of
the enameller, who makes use of vitreous pastes both in an opaque and a
transparent condition. The identity of the materials in these different
uses is shown by the fact that Theophilus, Bk. II, ch. 12, directs the
enameller to pound up and melt for his incrustations the very cubes used
in old mosaics, or as he puts it ‘in antiquis aedificiis paganorum in
musivo opere diversa genera vitri.’ Enamel work consists in fusing these
coloured pastes over surfaces that are generally of metal, the different
tints being either distinctly separated by divisions, or else running
beside each other, or again interpenetrating like the colours in a
picture. Hence there are two main divisions of the enameller’s craft,
the painted enamel where the colours are fused on to the metal but
produce an effect similar to that of a painting executed with the brush,
the special advantage of the enamel being its lustre; and the encrusted
enamel, where the effect is more like that of mosaic. Vasari would have
thoroughly appreciated the painted enamels, known generally as enamels
of Limoges, which are complete pictures, but, though Cellini mentions
them, they originated north of the Alps and only came into general vogue
after Vasari’s time. The incrusted enamels are earlier, and of these he
only describes one particular kind that had its home specially in Italy.

The earliest known enamels, whether Western or Byzantine or Oriental in
origin, have the different colours separated in compartments divided
from each other by ridges of metal which give the lines of the design.
These so-called ‘champlevé’ and ‘cloisonné’ enamels there is no need to
discuss, but it may be noted that the pastes used in them, though highly
lustrous, are opaque, and cover completely the metal over which they are
laid. The enamel described by Vasari differs from these earlier enamels
in compartments in that the pastes are transparent, so that the ground
shows through. The divisions between the colours also are not so marked.
In this kind of work transparent vitreous pastes are fused over a metal
ground that has been chased in low relief, so that the light and shade
of the relief shows through the transparent coloured film. The work is
very delicate and on a small scale, and the ground is nearly always gold
or silver. A slight sinking is made in a plate of one of these metals
where the enamel is to come, and at the bottom of this sinking the
subject is carved or chased in very low relief, so low indeed that
Cellini compares the height of it to the thickness of two sheets of
paper (_Dell’ Oreficeria_, c. III). The transparent enamels are then
fused over the different parts of the design, the contours of the
figures or objects being just allowed to show as fine lines of metal
between the different colours.

Examples of this work are rare, but the Victoria and Albert Museum and
the British Museum have some good specimens. Transparent enamels are
used also in other ways, and are sometimes arranged in apertures (see
above) so as to show by transmitted light. Labarte’s _Histoire des Arts
Industriels_ is still indispensable as an authority on various kinds of
enamel work, though there is a whole literature on the theme.

INDEX

For buildings and permanent monuments at Florence, Rome, etc., see under
the names of the respective cities.

The references are to pages. The upright numerals refer to the text, the
sloping ones to the commentary.

Aachen, minster at, crown-light in, _275_.

Abbozza, l’, _231_.

‘Abundance,’ see ‘Donatello, Dovizia.’

‘Adoration of the Lamb,’ by van Eyck, _296_.

‘Agias,’ the, by Lysippus, _146_.

‘Alberese,’ 57.

Alberti, Leon Battista: _1_, _7_, _8_, _10_, _11_, _12_, _13_, 25, 30,
_66_:
his writings;
_De Re Aedificatoria_, _6_, _13_, _26_, _34_, _65_, _232_;
_Della Pittura_, _6_, _11_, _12_, _13_;
_Della Scultura_, _6_, _192_;
_Tract on the Orders_, _66_.

Alcamenes, his competition with Pheidias, _181_, _186_.

Aldovrandi, _104_.

Alexander VI, _260_.

Alexandria, _102_, _300_.

Alfonso of Naples, 226.

Amalgam, for niello work, 274.

Amiens, portals at, _199_.

Ammanati, 46, _125_, _139_.

Anastatius IV, _27_.

Ancona, arch at, 79.

Andrea dal Castagno, 229.

Anio, the, _51_.

Antiques, collections of, _102_ f.

Antonello da Messina, 229, _297_.

‘Apollo’;
‘Belvedere,’ _116_;
‘Choisseul Gouffier,’ _146_;
at Naples, _42_, _104_.

‘Applied ornament,’ _22_.

Arabesques, _303_.

Arch of Discharge, 70.

Arches: ancient;
at Ancona, 79;
at Pola, 79;
at Rome, _76_, 82, _132_, _184_, _197_:
temporary, 240.

Architectural forms, significance of, _68_.

Architectural practice, mediaeval and modern, _207_.

Architecture;
Gothic, 83, _132_, _133_ f.;
ideal, _18_, 96, _138_;
mediaeval, Vasari on, 83, _133_ f.;
Renaissance, _133_, _138_ f.,
books on, _72_, _74_;
Roman, see ‘Rome,’ and _passim_.

‘Architettura Tedesca,’ _134_.

_Archivio della R. Società Romana di Storia Patria_, _103_.

Armatures;
in models of clay or wax, 149, 150, _195_;
in moulds for bronze casting, 160 f., _201_;
in modelled plaster work, 171.

Aretine vases, _156_.

Arezzo, _267_, _309_;
Cathedral, _267_;
Museum, _157_;
S. Francesco, _267_;
Vasari’s house, _291_.

Armenini, _7_.

Armour, arms, inlaid, 279 f.

‘Ascension’ by Melozzo da Forlì, _217_.

Ashlar work, 50, 63.

Assisi;
S. Francesco, _134_;
Roman Temple, _75_.

Athens;
Acropolis, _300_;
Museums, _239_;
Olympeion, _132_;
Pentelicus quarries, _44_, _194_.

Bacchus, Temple of, at Rome, 27, 93.

Bacon, Francis, his _Essay on Building_, _139_.

Baldinucci;
his _Notizie_, _110_, _113_, _114_;
his _Vocabolario_, _57_, _231_.

Bandinello, 46.

Bardiglio, grey marble, _45_, _49_, _125_.

Basalt, _104_, _117_.

Bassae, sculpture from, _184_.

Bathroom pictures, _227_.

Beccafumi, Domenico, 258.

Bekleidungstheorie, Semper’s, _303_.

Bell earths, 230.

Bellini;
Gentile, _236_;
Giovanni, _297_;
Jacopo, Vasari’s Life of, _237_.

Bells, casting of, 164, _199_.

Belvedere, Cortile di, see ‘Rome, Vatican.’

Bérard, _Dictionnaire des Artistes Français_, _130_.

‘Bernward’ pillar, the, _164_.

Bertolotti, _Artisti Francesi in Roma_, etc., _130_.

Biacca (white lead), _221_, 230, 236, _288_.

‘Bianco Sangiovanni,’ _221_, _288_.

Birmingham, its School of Art, _22_.

Boccaccio, his Commentary on Dante, _35_.

Bocchi, Francesco, on Donatello, _195_.

Boetheus, _de Arithmetica_, _236_.

_Bollettino d’ Arte del Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione_, quoted,
_233_.

Bole Armeniac, Bolus, _248_.

Bologna;
John of, _38_;
S. Domenico, _306_.

Bonanni, _Numismata_, etc., _116_.

Borghini, _7_.

Botticelli, as tempera painter, _292_, _294_.

Box wood;
for carving, 174;
for wood-cuts, 281.

Braccio, as measure of length, viii.

Bramante, _116_, _135_, _266_.

Breccia, 37, _38_, 45, 49, 57, _125_, 261.

Brenner, the, _134_.

Brick;
pounded, 232, 234;
variegated, for pavements, 260.

British Museum, _313_.

Bronze;
casting in, see ‘Sculpture, in Bronze’;
composition of, 163 f.;
incised designs in, _275_.

Brunelleschi, _25_, _46_, 58, _196_, _197_, 262, _305_.

Brussels, Town Hall at, _236_.

Buddhist stucco work, _301_.

‘Building,’ relief on Giotto’s Campanile, _207_.

_Bulletin Monumental_, _136_.

Bulls’ eyes, 265.

Buonarroti, the Casa, _46_, _195_.

Buonarroti, Michelangelo, personal references to, _5_, _15_, _25_, 33,
108.

Buonarroti, his work;
at Florence, _46_, 80, _110_;
at the marble quarries, 120 f.;
at Rome, _14_, 36, 53, 81, _116_, 153;
as architect, 53 f., 80 f.;
as decorative designer, _53_, 81, _116_;
as draughtsman, 216;
as restorer of antiques, 32, _116_;
as sculptor, _90_, _153_, _192_, _194_, _195_, _199_;
as writer, _179_, _180_, _197_.

Buontalenti, _90_.

Burgkmair, _282_.

‘Burin,’ or graver, 165, 273.

Burlington;
House, see ‘Exhibitions’;
_Magazine_, _227_.

Burnishing of gold, 249.

Busts, Roman, in coloured wax, _188_.

Byzantine;
mosaics, _136_;
mural paintings, _225_;
temperas, 223;
misuse of the word, _302_.

‘Calcagnuolo’ (toothed chisel), 48, 152.

Camaldoli, monastery of, _233_.

Cameos, 157, 169.

‘Campanini,’ marbles, 45, 50.

Campiglia, 50, _127_.

Cancellieri, _Lettera ... intorno la ... Tazza_, _109_.

Cannon, casting of, 164, _200_.

Canopy, in the Carmine, Florence, 43, _118_.

Cantini, _Legislazione Toscana_, _58_.

Canvas;
as painting ground, 236 f.;
mural painting on, _234_;
as used in Egypt, _236_;
at Rome, _236_;
at Venice, _236_ f.;
by Mantegna, _236_;
by Netherland painters, _236_.

Carborundum, _29_.

Careggi, _33_.

Carfagnana, or Garfagnana, a district of Italy, _45_.

Carpi, Ugo da, 281.

Carrara, 42, _119_ f., 259.

_Carteggio_, the, of Gaye, _16_, _32_, _266_, _308_ f.

Cartoons;
how made, 213;
how used, 215 f., 259, _289_;
for glass, 268.

Castagno, Andrea dal, 229.

Casting-pit, the, 163.

Cellini, Benvenuto; _7_, _45_, _116_, _160_, _164_, _199_ f.;
his _Autobiography_, _116_, _302_;
his _Trattati_, _7_, _18_, _41_, _57_, _111_, _113_, _168_, _191_,
_275_, _276_, _277_, _278_;
on the use of full-sized models, _194_;
his process of bronze casting, _201_.

Cennini, Cennino, _9_, _10_, _11_, _88_;
his _Trattato_, _6_, _8_, _11_, _136_ f., _173_, _224_, _237_, _290_,
_292_, _295_.

Cesare Cesariano, _134_ f.

Chalk;
black, 213;
red, 212;
tailors’ white, 231;
as ‘whitening,’ _242_.

Chambers, Sir William, _68_.

Charcoal;
for darkening mixtures, 240;
for drawing, 213, 231;
for transferring, 215.

Charles V, _108_.

Chartres, sculpture at, _183_.

Chasing; _200_, 273;
tools for, 165.

Chavenier (Chiavier), Jean, of Rouen, _130_, _175_.

Chemical analysis of painting media, _225_.

Chiaroscuri;
decorative paintings, 240 f., _298_;
wood engravings, _20_, 281 f.

Choir stalls, _305_.

Christ;
by Donatello at Padua, _188_;
‘At the pillar’ by del Piombo, _234_;
Head of, by Tadda, 33, _113_, _115_.

Christa, Christus (the painter), see ‘Crista.’

‘Chunam,’ _301_.

‘Church Triumphant,’ the, at Reims, _184_.

Cicero, _de Divinatione_, _180_.

Cimabue, 223, _252_.

‘Cipollaccio,’ 36.

Cipollino, _36_, 45, 49.

‘Cire Perdue,’ _202_.

Cista, Ficeronian, the, _273_.

Cividale, S. Maria in Valle, _301_.

Claude (worker in glass), _266_.

Clement;
VII, 36, _46_, 58, 89, _109_, _110_, _116_, 311;
XI, _108_;
XII, _28_;
XIV, _108_.

‘Cleopatra,’ the, _116_.

Coats of Arms, see ‘Stemmi.’

Coins, technique of, 157, 168.

‘Colantonio del Fiore’ (apocryphal artist), _227_.

Colonna;
Ascanio, 32, _108_;
Vittoria, _108_.

Colouring; 218 f.;
Florentine, North Italian, _208_;
in three shades, 209;
printing in, _281_;
of woods for tarsia, 262;
of wax, 148, _188_ f.

Columns: see ‘Orders of Architecture’:
at Constantinople, _102_:
at Florence;
Baptistry, 34;
Mercato Vecchio, 59;
S. Trinità, _41_, _66_, _110_:
at Pisa, Baptistry, _41_:
at Rome;
Aurelian, _183_ f.;
Basilica of Constantine, _79_;
Pantheon, 41;
St. Peter’s, 39;
Trajanic, _183_ f.:
rustication of, _65_.

‘Commesso, lavoro di,’ 262.

Composition, in a picture, its meaning, 209.

Conche (antique bathing urns used for sepulchral purposes or
fountains), _27_, _38_, _39_, _108_ f.

Conglomerate, see ‘Breccia.’

Coningsburgh Castle, _72_.

Constantine, 27, _102_.

Constantinople;
porphyry at, _101_;
S. Sophia, _102_, _254_.

Correggio, _208_, _217_.

Corsi, _delle Pietre antiche_, _37_, _41_, _49_.

Cortona, _156_, _267_.

Corundum (emery), _29_.

Cosimo, see ‘Medici, dei.’

Cosmati-work, _304_.

Cranach, _282_.

Crista, Pietro, 228.

Crowe and Cavalcaselle; _Early Flemish Painters_, _227_;
_History of Painting in North Italy_, _226_.

Dalman, Dalmau, Ludovicus, _228_.

Damascening, 279.

Damiano, Fra, of Bergamo, 263, _306_.

Dante; _307_;
quoted, _258_ f.;
referred to, _35_.

Danti, Vincenzio, _123_.

Daremberg et Saglio, _Dictionnaire des Antiquités_, _273_.

Davanzati, on Donatello, _181_.

‘David,’ the, by Michelangelo, _44_, 45, _194_.

De l’Orme, _139_.

De Mayerne MS., _297_.

Design;
how it should be studied, 210;
as basis of the decorative arts, 284.

Dienecker, _282_.

Dierich, Dirick;
Bouts, _228_;
of Haarlem, _228_.

‘Disegno,’ Vasari’s use of the term, _205_.

Dissection, value of, 210.

Djebel Duchan, porphyry quarries, _102_.

Dome of St. Peter’s, _81_.

Donatello: personal references, _12_, _197_, _199_:
his treatment of relief, _18_, 145, 156:
his treatment of the proportions of the figure, _181_ f.:
his works; ‘Abraham and Isaac,’ _182_,
‘Beheading of John Baptist,’ _196_,
‘Cantoria,’ _182_,
‘Christ’ of S. Antonio, Padua, _188_,
‘David,’ _188_,
‘Dovizia,’ _57_, 59,
‘St. George,’ _45_, _195_,
‘Niccolo da Uzzano,’ _188_,
‘Pietà,’ _156_,
‘Zuccone,’ _182_.

‘Doryphorus,’ the, at Naples, _146_.

‘Dovizia,’ by Donatello, _57_, _59_.

Drapery, its treatment in sculpture, _144_, 150, 175.

Drawing;
its use in the various arts, 206 f.;
materials of, 212.

Drawings, Florentine and Venetian, _212_.

Drills, 49.

Duccio of Siena, 258.

Dürer, Albrecht; _1_;
as tempera painter, _292_.

Dussieux, _Artistes Français à l’Étranger_, _130_.

Egg, as a tempera, 222, _223_, 224, 234, 249, _293_.

Egg-shell mosaic, 93, _136_ f.

Egypt, as source of supply for stones, 26, 36, 38, 39, 40, _41_, 42,
_101_, _111_.

Egyptians;
their bronze casting, 163;
their painting methods, _224_;
their silver work, _273_;
their use of wooden stamps for bricks, _275_.

Elba, granite from, 40, _111_.

‘Electron’ metal, 164.

Elsa, river of Tuscany, 88.

Emery; 27 f.;
point for cutting glass, 269;
veins (smerigli), 47.

Enamels;
different kinds of, _312_ f.;
vitreous pastes for, _311_;
effect of tin in, _277_, _311_;
Cellini on, _276_ f.;
Labarte on, _313_;
Theophilus on, _276_, _312_;
over reliefs, 276 f.;
over different metals, 277;
firing of, 278;
fluxes for, _277_;
polishing of, 278;
ruby colour in, _277_;
Venetian, _278_.

Encaustic painting, _190_, _292_.

_Encyclopédie_, the French, _18_, _152_, _158_, _191_.

Engraving, on metal, 273 f.;
on wood, 281 f.

Etruscan;
incised designs, _273_:
reliefs, _197_;
see also ‘Orders of Architecture, Tuscan’ and ‘Tuscan style.’

Eugenius IV, _28_.

Eustatius, _181_.

_Evonimus Europaeus_, see ‘Silio.’

Exhibitions;
at Burlington House, _227_, _293_;
at the Salon, _293_;
International, of 1851, _21_;
of 1862, _41_, _55_, _60_, _119_;
‘Toison d’Or,’ at Bruges, _227_.

Eyck, van; _10_, _19_, _294_ f.;
Hubert, _226_;
Jan, 226 f., _230_,
bath room pictures by, 227.

Ezechiel, his visionary temple, _139_.

Facio, _De Viris Illustribus_, _227_, _296_.

Falda, G. F., _Vedute delle Fabbriche_, _28_.

Farnese Collection of Antiques, 28, _104_.

Federico of Urbino, 227.

Ferrara;
as an artistic centre, _227_;
Palazzo dei Diamanti, _132_.

Fichard, _Frankfurtisches Archiv_, _106_.

Ficorini, Francesco dei, _Le Vestigia_, etc., _108_.

Fiesole; _57_, 58, _60_, _132_;
S. Girolamo, tomb in, _111_.

Fig tree, milk of, as a tempera, 224.

Filarete, _Trattato_, _135_, _139_ f., _146_, _296_.

‘Filiera’ (wire-drawing plate), _280_.

Fineschi, on S. Maria Novella, _30_.

Finiguerra, Maso, 274, _275_.

Fireplaces, mediaeval, _72_.

Firing;
of enamels, 278;
of glass, 271;
of _cire perdue_ moulds, 162 f.

‘Flashing,’ in glass staining, _270_.

Flemings, as glass workers, 267, _309_.

Flemish;
correspondents of Vasari, _1_;
painting, 226 f., _236_.

Florence:
Baptistry; 34, _252_, 274;
gates of, _34_, 155, _183_, _196_:
Bargello, see ‘Museum, National’:
Boboli Gardens, _29_, _38_, _39_, _41_, _90_, _107_:
Borgo degli Albizzi, _298_:
Campanile;
materials of, _118_, _128_;
relief on, _207_;
statues on, _182_, _187_:
‘Centro,’ the, _60_:
Churches;
Annunziata, _18_, 175, 253;
Carmine, 42, _118_;
Cathedral, see ‘Duomo’;
Duomo, 43, 61, _112_, _118_, _128_, _253_, _306_, _308_;
S. Giovanni, see ‘Baptistry’;
S. Lorenzo, 58, _112_, _122_, 156, (Cappella dei Principi, _59_,
Façade, 46, _124_, Library, 58, 80, _81_, 261, _310_, Sacristy,
58, 80, _110_, _194_, _305_);
S. Maria del Fiore, see ‘Duomo’;
S. Maria Novella, 30;
S. Maria Nuova, 228, 229;
Or San Michele, 60, 61;
S. Miniato a Monte, _28_, 43, _118_;
S. Spirito, 58:
Citadel, fortress, see ‘Fortezza’:
Fortezza;
Belvedere, _66_;
da Basso, 61, 66, _133_:
Fountains, 32, _38_, 46, 88, _90_, _113_:
Loggia dei Lanzi, 61:
Manufactory of Mosaics, _109_, _118_:
Mercato;
Nuovo, 59;
Vecchio, 59:
Museum;
of S. Marco, _60_;
National, _113_, _136_, _274_:
Opera del Duomo, _136_, _182_, _307_:
Palazzo;
Alessandri, _132_;
Medici, 68, _133_;
Montalvo, _298_;
Pitti, 42, _60_, 61, _66_, 68, _109_, _114_, _133_;
Riccardi, _133_;
Strozzi, 61, 68;
Vecchio (dei Signori, Ducal, Duke Cosimo’s, etc.), _3_, _15_, _19_,
_33_, 45, 61, _113_, _132_, 233, _306_, _307_:
Piazza;
S. Trinità, _66_, _110_;
Vittorio Emanuele, _59_:
Ponte S. Trinità, _46_, _139_:
Strada dei Magistrati, see ‘Uffizi’:
Uffizi, _5_, _59_, 70 f., _106_, _112_, _113_, _136_:
Via dei Magistrati, see ‘Uffizi.’

Flour;
baked, mixed with clay to keep it moist, 150;
in paste for priming canvas, _236_;
for mucilage, 213.

Fluxes, for enamels, _277_.

Foggini, Giov. Batt., _60_.

Fontainebleau, stucco work at, _171_, _183_, _302_.

Foreshortening;
in painting, 216 f.;
in sculpture, 145.

Fornarina, Raphael’s, her reputed house, _103_.

Fountains, 32, 36, _38_, _40_, 46, 87 f., _110_, _113_, _116_.

François I of France, _130_, _171_.

‘Frassinella’ (sharpening stone), 278.

Frederick II, Emperor, _112_.

French School at Rome, _53_.

French, the, as glass workers, 267.

Fresco painting, see ‘Painting, fresco.’

Gaddi;
Agnolo, _10_, _137_;
Gaddo, _136_;
Taddeo, _10_.

Galluzzi, _History of the Grand Dukes_, _15_, _112_.

‘Ganymede,’ the Florentine, _106_.

Garfagnana or Carfagnana;
a district of Italy, _45_.

Garnier, M., on Michelangelo, _81_.

Gaye, _Carteggio_, _16_, _32_, _266_, _308_ f.

_Gazette des Beaux Arts_, referred to, _81_.

Genoa;
Doria Palace, _247_;
its flagstones or slates, 55, 238.

German carving in hard materials, 174.

‘German work,’ 63, 83, _133_ f.

Germans, the, in connection with engraving, _275_, _282_.

Gesso;
as painting ground, 223 f., 230, 236, _249_, _293_;
reliefs in, _224_.

Ghiberti, _18_, _183_, _199_.

Gian, Maestro, 52, _128_ f., _175_.

_Giornale d’ Italia_, _130_.

Giotto, _10_, 225, _290_, _304_.

Giovanni, Fra, of Verona, 262, _305_.

Girardon, his statue of Louis XIV, _18_, _158_.

Giulio, a silver coin, 276.

Giusto, S., near Florence, 37.

Glass;
‘crown,’ _265_;
stained, 265 f., _308_ f.;
Venetian, 268;
see also ‘Mosaic.’

Glue;
from cheese, 173;
from parchment shreds, 173;
see also ‘Size.’

Gori, _Thesaurus Vet. Diptychorum_, _136_.

Gossets, the, workers in wax, _189_.

Gothic Art, _16_, _17_, _60_, 83, _133_ f., _184_.

Goths, the, 60, 63, 83, _134_.

Gotti, Aurelio;
on the length of the ‘braccio,’ viii;
_Le Gallerie ... di Firenze_, _113_.

Gozbert of Tegernsee, _310_.

‘Gradina’ (toothed chisel), 48, 152.

Granite, 39 f.

Granito;
del foro, _41_;
di Prato, _118_.

Greece, as source of supply for stones, _35_, 36, 38, 42, 43.

Greek;
bronzes, _164_;
incised designs, _273_;
reliefs, _179_, _196_ f.;
statues, _146_;
technique of marble sculpture, _192_;
technique of bronze casting, _202_;
tempera paintings, see ‘Byzantine’;
wood inlays, _304_.

Gregorovius, _Geschichte der Stadt Rom_, _102_ f.

Gregory XII, _227_.

‘Grisatoio’ (a tool), 269.

Grotesques; 244 f., _299_ f.;
meaning of term, _302_.

Grottoes, 87, _302_.

‘Grozing iron’ (a tool), 269.

Guasti, edition of Michelangelo’s poems, _180_.

Guglielmo da Marcilla, 266, _268_, _311_.

Guicciardini, on early Flemish painters, _226_.

Gum, as a tempera, 222, _223_, 250, 267, 283.

Haematite, 269.

Hair, the, its treatment in sculpture, _144_.

Hampton Court, _236_.

Hare, _Days near Rome_, _88_.

‘Heads,’ as measures of columns, 65.

Heemskerck, drawing of Michelangelo’s fountain, _116_.

Helena, mother of Constantine, _27_.

_Hermeneia_ (Mount Athos Handbook), _295_.

‘Hermes,’ the, of Praxiteles, _44_.

Herrmann, _Steinbruchindustrie_, _49_.

Hildesheim;
bronze doors at, _164_;
St. Michael’s, _302_.

‘Historic Ornament,’ _22_.

Honey, as a tempera, _223_, 250.

Hugo of Antwerp (van der Goes), 229.

Humanism, _11_, _25_, _138_ f.

Ideal Architecture, _18_, 96, _138_.

Ilg, Dr Albert, _6_, _92_.

Impruneta, Hill of the, 37, _127_.

Industrial Arts, the; _21_;
in Britain, _22_;
in France, _21_;
in Italy, _passim_.

Inlays:
breccia, 38:
marble, 92 f., 258 f.:
metal;
damascening, 279 f.;
niello, 273 f.:
rustic, for fountains and grottoes, 87 f.:
of coloured stones for pavements, etc., 57, 91:
wood, 262 f., _303_ f.

Intaglios, technique of, 168 f.

Intarsia, _279_;
see also ‘Tarsia.’

Iron;
armatures, ties, etc., 25, 74, 161 f., 271;
see also ‘Armatures’;
damascening in, 279 f.;
scale or scum of, 234, 269.

Istrian Stone, 56.

_Jahrbuch d. k. deutschen Archeologischen Instituts_, _104_, _105_,
_107_, _115_.

Janni, Maestro, _128_, 174.

Jervis, _I Tesori Sotterranei dell’ Italia_, _41_, _119_ f.

Joggled lintels, _72_.

John of Bruges, see ‘Eyck, van, Jan.’

‘Jonah,’ by Michelangelo, _216_.

Julius;
II, _108_, _260_, _266_, _267_, _276_, _308_;
III, 32, _108_.

‘Justice,’ statue by Francesco del Tadda, _110_.

Justus of Ghent, 229.

Labarte, _Histoire des Arts Industriels_, _258_, _276_, _313_.

‘Lacedaemonium viride,’ _35_.

‘Laocoon,’ the, _116_.

‘Last Supper’;
Leonardo’s, _233_;
in Flemish glass, _311_.

Lavagna, slates of, 55.

Laws, against use of particular materials, etc., 58.

Leads, for glass windows, 271.

Leo;
III, 310;
X, _15_, _44_, _46_, _106_, _122_, _260_.

Leonardo da Vinci, _12_, _14_, _15_, _139_, 230, _233_.

Leopardi, Alessandro, _199_.

_Liber Pontificalis_, _310_.

Libergier, Hughes, of Reims, _207_.

Light and shade, treatment of, 220.

Lime;
from marble chips, 86;
from travertine, 86, _221_;
its behaviour in connection with fresco, _288_.

Lime-white, see ‘Bianco Sangiovanni.’

Limewood, for carving, 173.

Linen cloth, over panels, 224.

Linlithgow Palace, _72_.

Lippmann, _The Art of Wood Engraving_, _281_.

Lomazzo, _231_.

Lorenzetto, the sculptor, _107_.

Lotto, _208_.

Louis:
XIV, age of, 21;
statue of, _158_:
XV, style of, _89_.

Louvre, the, _44_, _107_, _116_, _194_, _201_.

‘Luano, Ludovico da’ (apocryphal painter), 228.

Lübeck, _308_.

Luini, _290_.

Luni, _119_.

Lysistratus, _188_.

Maccari, _Graffiti e Chiaroscuri_, _298_.

‘Macigno,’ 57.

Majano;
Benedetto da, 262, _306_;
Giuliano da, _306_.

Manganese, its use in fluxes, _277_.

‘Manner,’ its meaning in sculpture, _144_.

Mantegna, _236_;
as tempera painter, _292_.

Manufactory of Mosaics, Tuscan, _109_, _118_.

_Manufacture des Meubles de la Couronne_, _21_.

Marangoni, _Delle Cose Gentilesche_, _28_.

Marble;
coloured, _153_;
Italian, ch. I _passim_, _117_ f., 152, 259;
for mosaic, 91 f., 258;
Parian, Pentelic, _44_;
polish of, 49, 152, _153_;
transparent, 43, 265.

Marcilla, Guglielmo da, 266, _267_, _268_, _311_.

Maremma, the Tuscan, its quarries, _128_.

Mariotti, _Legislazione delle Belle Arti_, _59_, _61_.

Marqueterie, _264_.

Martin, painters named, _229_.

‘Mary of the Visitation,’ Reims, _184_.

Massa, its quarries, _126_.

Massi, _Museo Pio-Clementino_, _27_, _108_.

Medals, technique of, 167 f.

Mediaeval;
sculpture, _144_;
decorative art, _284_;
see also ‘Gothic.’

Medici;
arms of the, _61_, 67;
porphyry portraits of the, 33, _113_ f.;
tombs of the, _194_.

Medici, dei:
Alessandro, 66:
Cosimo (_Pater Patriae_), 33, _113_ f.:
Cosimo I, Duke;
personal references, _14_, _15_, 32, 33, 47, 70, _110_, _112_, 228;
portrait in porphyry, 33, _113_;
connection with the marble quarries, _120_, _124_, 261;
his interest in Pisa, 50, _126_;
works connected with his name at Florence, (Palazzo Vecchio), 32,
_33_, 37;
(Pitti), 38, 41;
(Uffizi), 59, 70;
(elsewhere), 59, 88:
Ferdinando, 105:
Francesco, _33_, 123:
Giovanni, _112_:
Giuliano, _15_:
Giulio (Clement VII), _15_:
Ippolito, _103_:
Leonora, Duchess, 33:
Lorenzo;
the Magnificent, 227;
Duca d’ Urbino, _15_:
Piero, _112_.

_Mélanges Nicole_, _194_.

Melozzo da Forlì, _217_.

Memling, Hans, _227_.

‘Meridiana,’ in the Pitti, _114_.

Merrifield, Mrs, _3_, _6_.

Michelagnolo, Michelangelo, see ‘Buonarroti.’

Michelozzo, _199_.

Milan;
S. Ambrogio, _302_;
Cathedral, _135_.

Millar, _Plastering_, _150_.

Mischiato, Mischio, see ‘Breccia.’

_Mitteilungen d. k. deutschen Archeologischen Instituts_, _78_.

Modelling in clay, 149 f., _198_.

Models:
for sculpture;
full-sized, 150 f., 158, _190_, _192_ f., _194_, _202_;
small, 148, _194_:
for wood carving, 173:
of wood for architecture, 207:
for studying shadows, 214, 216.

Monochromes, see ‘Chiaroscuri.’

Monsummano, quarries of, _128_.

Monte, monti;
Albano, _128_;
Altissimo, _120_ f.;
Ceceri, _57_;
Ferrato, _127_;
S. Giuliano, 50, _126_;
Martiri, _37_;
Morello, 88;
Pisani, 50, _126_;
Rantoli, 37;
Ripaldi, _60_;
Sagro, _120_;
Spertoli, _242_.

_Monumenti del Istituto_, _76_.

Morris, William, _3_, _22_.

Morto da Feltro, _302_.

Mosaic;
antique, 91 f., _93_, 257, 263;
derivation of word, _91_;
Early Christian, _27_, _252_ f.;
egg-shell, 93, _136_;
glass, 93, 251;
marble, 37, 92 f., 258 f.;
pictorial, for walls, 93, 251 f.;
rustic, for fountains and grottoes, 89, 90;
technique of, 253 f.;
Tuscan manufactory of, _109_, _118_;
for variegated pavements (Cosmati-work), 91, _304_;
vitreous pastes for, _311_ f.;
of window glass, 266, _309_;
wood, 262 f., _303_ f.

Mosque;
lamps from, _268_;
windows in, _309_.

Mother of Pearl, _93_.

Mothes, _Baukunst ... in Italien_, _135_.

Moulds, plaster, from the life, _188_.

Mucilage, see ‘Glue.’

‘Muffle’ furnace, 271, 277.

Müntz, Eugène;
_Les Arts à la Cour des Papes_, _130_;
on Byzantine mosaics, _136_.

Mural decoration:
decorative processes, _19_, 240 f., _287_ f.:
fresco, _10_, 213 f., 221 f., _287_ f.:
mosaic, 93, 251 f.:
oil, 232 f., _236_, 237, _294_ f.;
on stone, 239:
stucco, 53, 170 f., 244 f., _299_ f.:
sgraffito, 243, _298_ f.:
tempera, 224, _291_ f.

Naples:
Museum, antiques at, _43_, _104_;
pictures at, _227_:
S. Barbara, _226_:
S. Giacomo, tomb in, _47_:
Vasari’s paintings at, _233_.

Nature, study of, at the Renaissance, _12_, _14_.

Net, the, for enlarging, 214.

Niello, 273 f.

Niké, from Samothrace, _107_.

‘Nile,’ Statue of the, 36, 44, _116_.

Nola, Giovanni da, 47.

‘Nonsuch,’ Palace of, stuccoes at, _302_.

Nose, the, in Greek and Florentine sculpture, _45_.

‘Nymph of Fontainebleau,’ Cellini’s, _201_.

Octavianus, Cardinal, _227_.

Oil;
linseed, 230, 234;
walnut, 230, 236.

Oil colour, for printing from wood blocks, 283.

Oil painting, 225, 226 f.;
its first discovery, 226;
its artistic advantages, 230;
on stone, 55, 239.

Olmo, by Castello, 88.

Orders of Architecture, 63;
Composite, 80 f.;
Corinthian, 79 f.;
Doric, 68 f.;
Ionic, 78 f.;
Italic, 82;
Latin, 82;
Rustic, 65 f.;
Tuscan, 65 f., _132_.

Oseri, Osoli, the river, 50, _126_.

Pacheco, _7_;
on tempera, _292_.

Painting:
definition of, 208:
comparison of with sculpture, _179_:
history of, _225_, 226 f., _287_, _290_, _292_, _294_ f.:
Florentine and Italian compared with modern, _208_:
Greek, _239_:
painting grounds;
canvas, 236 f.;
glass, 267 f., _308_ f.;
ivory, _190_;
panels, 223 f., 230, 237;
plaster, 221 f., 223, _287_ ff.;
stone, 55, 239:
materials, _225_,
and ‘Introduction’ to Painting, _passim_:
pigments, 221, 224, 242:
processes;
encaustic, _190_, _292_;
fresco, _4_, _10_, _19_, 221 f., _287_ f.;
oil, _10_, _19_, 226 ff., _294_ f.;
tempera, _19_, 223 f., 240 f., _291_ f.

Palazzo;
dei Diamanti, Ferrara, _132_;
see also ‘Florence,’ ‘Rome,’ etc.

Palermo, Cathedral, _111_.

Palissy, _139_.

Palladio, _66_.

Palmo, as measure of length, viii.

Palomino, _7_.

Panels;
as painting grounds, 223 f., 230, 237;
disadvantages of, _237_, 239;
woods used for, _237_.

Paragon (touchstone), 42 f., _104_, _117_ f.

Parione, see ‘Rome.’

Paris;
as an art centre, 21;
Sainte Chapelle, _311_.

Parthenon, sculpture of, _183_, _199_.

Pasiteles, _194_.

Pastes;
coloured for rustic work, 89;
for first priming of canvas, 236.

Pastorino of Siena, _189_.

Patina, artificial;
for bronze, 166;
for silver, _273_.

Paul;
II, _40_;
III, _40_, _108_, _260_;
V, _39_.

Pavements;
breccia, 261;
mosaic, 90 f., 258;
tiled, 90, 260.

Paxes, 274 f.

Pear-tree wood, for wood-cuts, 281.

Pedestals, to columns; 65, 75, 78, 79, 82;
architectural use of them, _75_.

Pentelicus, Mount, quarries at, _44_, _194_.

Peperigno, Peperino, _51_, 55, 238.

‘Per forza di levare,’ ‘per via di porre’ (methods of sculpture), _179_
f., _197_ f.

Pergamon, smaller frieze from altar base, _197_.

Perino del Vaga, _14_, _53_.

‘Perseus,’ by Cellini, _164_, _201_ f.

Perspective, its study, _12_, _264_.

Perspectives, 214, _264_, _305_.

Perugino, Pietro, 230.

Peruzzi, _78_.

Petersburg, St., _304_.

Petrarch, figure of in tarsia, _307_.

Pheidias, _11_, _181_, _186_.

Piè di Lupo (Lugo), 87 f.

Piece-mould, 158 f., _202_.

Pier Maria da Pescia, _112_.

Pietà;
by Donatello, _156_;
by Michelangelo, _153_.

Pietra forte, 57, 60 f.

Pietra del fossato (fossataccio), 58.

Pietra morta, _57_.

Pietra serena, 57 f.

Pietrasanta, 46, 50, _120_ f., 261.

Pigments; 221, 224, 230, 242;
for glass-painting, 269, _310_.

Pinturicchio, _303_.

Piombino, _127_.

Piperno, see ‘Peperigno.’

Pisa:
Duke Cosimo’s care for, 50 f., _126_:
Baptistry, _41_:
Camposanto, 50:
Duomo; 50, 252;
‘Cimabue’ at, _252_.

Pisan mountains, _50_, _126_.

Pisano, Nicola, _197_.

Pistolesi, _Il Vaticano Descritto_, _53_, _108_.

Pius;
IV, _110_;
VI, _27_, _108_, _109_.

Plaster work, see ‘Stucco.’

Plato, _Sophist_, _181_.

Pliny, _Historia Naturalis_, _34_, _35_, _44_, _51_, _91_, _93_, _101_,
_117_, _225_, _236_, _237_, _273_, _291_.

Podium, of Roman temples, _75_, _78_.

Pointing machine, _191_.

Pola, arch at, 79.

Polishing;
breccias, 38;
bronze, 165;
enamels, 278;
marble mosaics, 260;
marble, statuary, 45, 47, 49, 152, _153_;
niellos, 274;
pietra serena, 58;
porphyry, 31, 34;
stucco, _171_;
‘touchstones,’ 42 f.

Pollaiuolo, A., _199_, _275_.

Polvaccio quarry, 46, _120_.

Pompeian;
style in ornament, _302_;
wall paintings, _225_.

Pomponius Gauricus, _199_.

Popes, see the individual names, ‘Clement,’ etc.

Porphyry; 26 ff., 101 ff.;
green, at S. Nicola in Carcere, Rome, _28_.

Porta, Giacomo della, _52_.

Portinari, the, 227 f.

‘Pot-metal,’ _270_, _311_.

Potters’;
clay, 240;
‘soap,’ _277_.

Pouncing, as method of transfer, _289_.

Pozzuoli, Pozzuolo, 66, _303_.

Prato, 42, _127_.

Praxiteles; 180;
his ‘Hermes,’ _44_.

Presses, decorated, _305_.

Primaticcio, _171_, _183_.

Priming, directions for, 230 ff.

‘Prisoners,’ porphyry figures in Boboli Gardens, 29.

Probert, _History of Miniature Art_, _190_.

_Proceedings_ of Huguenot Society, _189_.

Proportions of the human figure, 146, _180_ f.

Pulvinated frieze, 79.

Pumice stone, for polishing;
bronze, 165;
marble, 49, 152;
niellos, 274.

‘Puntelli,’ for measuring statues, _194_.

_Quellenschriften_, the Vienna, _2_, _6_, _92_.

Rabelais, his Abbey of Theleme, _139_.

Raffaello da Urbino, see ‘Raphael.’

_Ragionamenti_, see ‘Vasari, his writings.’

Rags covered with clay, for drapery, 150, 208.

Raimondi, Marc Antonio, _274_, _275_.

Raphael; _14_, _15_, _134_, _188_, 220, 230, 260;
the _Report_ on Roman Monuments, _134_.

Ravello, _111_.

Ravenna;
mosaics, 252;
stuccoes in Baptistry, _301_.

Recipes: _6_, _20_:
black;
filling for marble monochromes, 260;
for niellos, 274;
for transferring, 215:
bronzes and metal alloys, 163:
keeping clay soft, 150:
core for a bronze casting, 159:
‘egg-shell’ mosaic, _137_:
enamels, fluxes for, _277_:
envelope for a bronze casting, 161, 166:
gesso, ‘grosso’ and ‘sottile,’ _249_:
gilding, 248 f.:
glass;
gilding, 254;
painting on (burnt in), 269, _310_, (unburnt), 267;
yellow stain for, 270, _311_:
ink, drawing, 213:
preparing mosaic cubes, _254_:
mucilages, 173, 213:
oil paint, mixing, 230, _295_ f.:
patina, artificial;
for bronze, 166;
for silver, _273_:
priming, 230 ff.:
polishing, see ‘Polishing’:
retouching media for fresco, 222, _289_:
sgraffito, 243 f.:
stone, painting on, 238:
stucco;
for enriched vaults and ‘grotesques,’ 86, 170;
for setting glass mosaic, 255 f., _256_;
for setting mosaic pavements, 92;
for preparing a wall for oil painting, 232 f.;
retarding its setting, _150_:
temperas, for painting, 224, _293_ f.;
for decorative painting, etc., 240 f.:
tempering-baths for steel, 30, 32, _112_:
tiles, variegated, 260:
‘verdaccio,’ _242_:
vitreous pastes, coloured, _311_:
preparing walls for oil painting, 232 f.:
wax;
for bronze casting, 160;
for coloured effigies, _189_;
for modelling, 148:
white lime, (bianco Sangiovanni) _221_:
colouring woods for tarsia work, 262 f.

Reliefs;
origin of, 154;
influence of painting and perspective on, _196_ f.;
terminology of, _154_;
antique, 154, _196_;
flat (stiacciati), 156 f.;
low (bassi), 156;
pictorial or perspective, 154 f., _196_ f.;
in cast bronze, _197_ f.;
in baked clay, _197_ f.;
in marble, _197_ f.;
in metal repoussé, _198_;
Andrea Pisano’s, _199_;
Donatello’s, 156, _196_;
Etruscan, _197_;
Ghiberti’s, _196_;
Greek, _197_ f.;
Hellenistic, _197_, _301_;
mediaeval, _196_, _199_;
Roman, _197_.

St. Rémy, tomb of Julii at, _197_.

Renaissance;
the, _7_, _11_, _21_;
the man of the, _138_;
marbles, _153_;
the ‘proto-,’ _197_.

Repetti, _Dizionario_, _118_, _119_ f.

Repoussé process, _179_, _198_.

Restoration of antiques, _106_, _107_, _116_.

Retouching, on frescoes, 222, _289_.

Ring, the, at Vienna, _56_.

Robbia, della;
the, _114_, _260_;
Luca, _182_.

Robinson, G. T., _3_, _150_.

Rocaille, Rococo, style, _18_, 87, _89_.

Rocco, S., statue of, _18_, 174.

Roger, ‘of Bruges,’ ‘of Brussels,’ ‘van der Weyden,’ 227, _236_.

Romans, the;
their bronzes, _164_;
their reliefs, _197_;
their use of rustication, _132_;
their wooden stamps for bricks, _275_.

Rome:
Arch;
of Septimius Severus, _76_;
of Titus, 82, _184_, _197_;
Arco dei Pantani, _132_:
S. Angelo, Castle of, 260:
Basilica;
Aemilia, _76_;
of Constantine, _79_:
Bocca della Verità, _76_:
Campo;
di Fiore, 78, _299_;
Vaccino, _76_:
Capitol, _81_:
Carcer Mamertinus, _76_:
Churches;
S. Bernardo, _130_;
Ss. Cosma e Damiano, 52;
S. Costanza, _27_, _252_;
S. Giovanni in Laterano, 27;
S. Luigi dei Francesi, _41_, 52, _54_, _175_;
S. Marco, 39;
S. Maria,
(in Araceli) _76_,
(Maggiore) _79_,
(del Popolo) _267_,
(Sopra Minerva) _44_;
S. Nicola in Carcere, _28_, _78_;
S. Pietro in Montorio, _234_;
S. Pietro in Vaticano,
(the Constantinian basilica) 39, 263, _310_,
(the present church) _28_, _39_, 54, 81, 86, _217_;
S. Pietro in Vincola, 39, _40_;
S. Salvadore del Lauro, 39;
S. Stefano, _40_;
S. Tommaso in Parione, _103_:
Colosseum, 51, _53_, 74, 82:
Column;
of Marcus Aurelius, _183_ f.;
of Trajan, _183_ f.:
Corso Vittorio Emanuele, _103_, _105_:
Forum;
of Augustus, _132_;
Boarium, 76;
Olitorium, _78_;
Romanum, _49_, _76_;
Trajanic, _41_, _185_:
Monte Cavallo, Colossi of, 44:
Museum, Terme, _301_:
Palazzo;
dei Conservatori, _81_;
Farnese, 28, 53, 78, 81, _104_, _131_;
la Valle, 28;
Madama, _52_, _131_;
Massimi, _298_;
Ricci, _298_;
Spada, _299_:
Pantheon, _28_, 41, 79, 80:
Parione, 42, 93, _102_:
Piazza;
Campo di Fiore, 78, _299_;
Farnese, _40_;
S. Luigi dei Francesi, _128_ f.;
di S. Marco, _40_;
dei Massimi, _298_;
Navona, _52_, _102_;
della Rotonda, 27, _28_:
Plan of Rome, _105_:
Ritonda, Rotonda, see ‘Pantheon’:
Temple;
of Bacchus, 27, 93;
of Peace, 79:
Templum Sacrae Urbis, _52_:
Theatre;
of Marcellus, 76, 79;
of Pompeius, _102_:
Thermae;
of Agrippa, _106_;
of Caracalla, _110_;
of Constantine, _44_;
of Diocletian, _130_;
of Nero, _41_, _130_;
of Titus, _108_, _302_:
Tombs on Via Latina, _301_:
Torre Pignattara, _27_:
‘Treasury,’ the, 52:
Tullianum, 76:
Vatican;
Appartamento Borgia, _53_, _260_, _303_;
Belvedere, Cortile di, 36, 44, _108_, _115_ f.;
Braccio Nuovo, _116_;
Chapel of Nicholas V, _234_;
coloured windows, _266_;
Museo Pio-Clementino, _108_;
Museum of Sculpture, _115_;
Sala di Costantino, _233_;
Sala a Croce Greca, _27_, _116_;
Sala Regia, _53_, _267_;
Sala Rotonda, _32_, _108_;
Sistine Chapel, _53_, _216_:
Via;
de’ Banchi Vecchi, _299_;
del Governo Vecchio, _103_;
Latina, _301_;
Maschera d’Oro, _298_, _299_;
Parione, _103_;
Pellegrino, _298_:
Villa;
Farnesina, _171_, _301_;
Madama, _89_;
Medici, _40_, _105_, _107_, _109_;
Papa Giulio, _108_:
Wall of Servius Tullius, _55_.

Royal Institute of British Architects, _Transactions_ of, _29_, _35_,
_38_, _101_, _102_, _265_.

Ruby red, in glass, _270_.

Rucellai, the family, _30_.

Runkelstein, Schloss, _227_.

Rustication, rustic work, 52, _56_, _65_, 67, _87_, _132_.

Rye dough, mixed with plaster to retard its setting, _150_.

Salamander, carved, at S. Luigi, Rome, _130_ f.

‘Saligni’ marbles, 45, 50.

Salting collection, _189_.

Salviati, Francesco, _311_.

San Gallo;
Antonio da, 53, 76;
Giuliano da, _76_.

Sansovino, Jacopo, 56.

Sarcophagi, Sarcophagus;
of Hadrian, _28_;
the Marsuppini, _16_;
of the Medici, _112_;
of Nectanebes I, _38_;
at Palermo, _111_;
Roman, _197_;
of L. C. Scipio Barbatus, _55_;
of Piero Soderini, 42, _118_;
in Sala a Croce Greca, Vatican, 27, _109_.

Sassi, the family, _102_ f.

Sasso, Egidio e Fabio, 28, 93, _102_ f.

Scaling, of glass, 270.

_Schedula Diversarum Artium_, see ‘Theophilus.’

Schools of Art, _22_, _199_.

Science and Art Department, _22_.

Scopas, his sculpture at Tegea, _184_.

Sculpture:
its nature and conditions, 143 f., _179–188_:
compared with painting, _179_:
processes of, 148–153, _190–195_:
use of drawing in, 207:
imitated in painting, 240 f.:
relief sculpture, see ‘Reliefs’:
in bronze;
beaten, _179_, 198;
cast, _4_, _7_, _18_, 158 f., _199_ f.;
chased, 276, _313_;
stamped, 167 f.:
in free stone, 52, 59, 61, _131_, _299_:
in marble; 43 f.;
technique of, 48, 151 f.:
in porphyry and hard materials, 33, 42, _110_ f., 117 f., 174:
in wood, 173 f.

Seccatives, 230.

Semper, Gottfried, _244_, _303_.

Seravezza, 46, 50, _120_ f.

Serpentine, 35, _113_, _118_, _127_.

Sgraffiato, _243_.

Sgraffito, _19_, 243 f., _298_ f.

‘Sicilian’ marble, _49_.

Siena;
Duomo, pavement in, _94_, 258;
Baptistry, Donatello’s relief in, _196_.

Silio, a white wood, 263.

Silver;
as ground for enamels, _276_ f.;
for glass staining, _270_, _311_;
for niello work, 273;
work, antique, _273_.

Sixtus IV, _53_.

Size;
meaning of the word, _248_;
in grounds for gilding, _248_, 249;
as priming, 224, 230, 237, 238;
as a tempera, 222, _223_, 224, 241, _242_, _289_, _294_.

Sketches, 212.

Slate, 54, _238_.

‘Slave,’ the, of the Louvre, _195_.

‘Smerigli’ (emery veins), 47.

Soderini, Piero, his tomb, 42, _118_.

Springer, Anton, _112_.

Stalactites, 87 f.

Stamps, wooden, for bricks, _275_.

Stazzema, _125_, 261.

Steel, damascened, 279.

Stemmi, _61_, _299_.

‘Stiacciato’ relief, 156, _182_.

Stockholm;
Museum at, _30_;
Parliament buildings at, _72_.

Stone;
its hardening by exposure, _26_, 41;
as painting ground, 55, 238;
and _passim_.

Stucco; _171_;
antique, _287_;
as fresco ground, _288_;
over travertine, 53;
enriched vaults in, 85;
(recipes) 86;
modelled and stamped enrichments and grotesques (recipes), 170 f.,
244 f., _299_ ff.;
for fixing panels of slate, 239;
for preparing a wall for oil paint (recipes), 232, 234;
for piece-moulding, 158;
for rustic grottoes, etc., 89 f.;
for setting marble mosaic pavements (recipe), 92;
for setting glass mosaics, 255;
for sgraffito-work (recipe), 243.

Stylus, use of the;
in niello work, 273;
for sharpening lines in tempera, _293_;
in sgraffito-work, 243;
for transferring, 215, 231, _289_.

‘Subbia’ (tool for stone-working), 48, 152.

Sulphur;
in amalgam for niellos, _274_;
for casting niellos, 275.

Symonds, J. A., his translation of Michelangelo, _180_.

Tadda, Francesco del, 32 f., _66_, _110_ ff.

Targioni Tozzetti, _Viaggi in Toscana_, _126_.

Tarsia work, _196_, 262 f., _303_ f.

Tausia work, 279.

‘Tedesco,’ its meaning to the Italians, _134_.

Tempera;
meanings of the term, _223_;
advantages of tempera process, 224, _291_ f.;
its disadvantages, _293_ f.;
see also ‘Painting, tempera.’

Terminal figures, 82.

Terni, _88_.

‘Terre da Campane,’ _230_.

Teverone, the, 51, 79, 87.

Text, Vasari’s printed, possible mistakes in, viii, _79_, _88_, _228_,
_276_, _283_.

Theophilus, his _Schedula_, _6_, _8_, _20_, _92_, _173_, _268_, _270_,
_271_, _276_, _280_, _284_, _295_.

Theophrastus, Περὶ Λίθων, _34_, _117_.

Theseum, sculpture of, _184_.

‘Three block’ wood engraving, 281 f.

‘Tiber,’ statue of the, 36, _44_, _116_.

‘Tigris,’ statue of the, _36_, _116_.

Tiles, glazed, 90, 260.

‘Times, The,’ referred to, _29_.

Tin;
effect of on enamels, _277_, _311_;
as ingredient in bronze, _164_.

Tintoretto, _214_, _234_.

Tivoli, 51, 66, 79, 87, _303_.

Toledo, don Pietro di, 47.

Tools;
for working bronze, 165;
for glass cutting, 269;
for granite, etc., 41;
for marble, 48, 152;
for porphyry, 32;
for wax, 149.

‘Topo,’ a tool, 269.

Torcello, mosaics at, _255_.

‘Torso,’ the, _116_.

Touchstone, see ‘Paragon’;
of Prato, 43.

Trajan, sculpture connected with him, _197_.

_Transactions_, _R.I.B.A._, see ‘Royal Institute of British
Architects.’

Transparency in glass, 267, _308_.

Travertine; 51;
carving in, 52 f., _131_, _299_.

Triangle, equilateral, in Gothic architecture, _135_.

Tribolo, _42_, 88, _260_.

Tripoli earth, for polishing, 153, 278.

Tuscan style, _56_, 87.

Tzetzes, _181_, _186_.

Udine, Giovanni da, 89.

Urns, bathing or sepulchral, see ‘Conche.’

Valle, della;
family, collection, palace, etc., 28, _104_ f.;
Cardinal Andrea, _106_ f.

Varchi, Benedetto, _179_, _197_.

Varnish, 232, 239, 249, _293_, _294_ f., _309_.

‘Vasajo,’ origin of Vasari family name, _156_.

Vasari, the family, _156_.

Vasari, Giorgio, the elder (‘Vasajo’), _156_ f.

Vasari, Giorgio:
his character and gifts, _4_, _15_ f.:
his life and art, _5_, _7_, 33, 59, _106_, _291_:
his visits, _56_, _103_, _237_:
his method of mural painting in oil, 233 f.:
his writings;
_Letters_, _3_, _6_, _111_;
_Lives of the Artists_, _1_, _2_, _5_, _7_, and _passim_;
_Ragionamenti_, _3_;
Editions of, _1_, _2_, _7_;
Translations of, 2 f.;
Text, printed, possible mistakes in, see ‘Text.’

Vaults;
brick, 86;
stucco, 85, 170;
in St. Peter’s, 54.

Vellino, river, _88_.

Venetians, the, _14_, _212_.

Venice:
colour printing, _281_:
enamels of, _278_:
frescoes at, _234_:
glass work at, 268:
mosaics at, _252_, _254_, _268_:
Ducal Palace, _236_, 237:
Church of S. Marco, _111_, _112_;
mosaics at, _252_:
Library of S. Marco, _56_, _237_:
Palace of S. Marco, see ‘Ducal Palace’:
Panattiera, 56:
Piazza di S. Marco, 56:
Piazzetta, _56_:
Scuola di S. Rocco, _234_:
Zecca (Mint), 56, _65_.

Veniziano, Domenico, 229.

‘Venus’;
crouching, in Louvre, _194_;
Medici, _105_;
of Milo, _195_;
and Cupid, _112_.

‘Verdaccio,’ 242.

‘Verde’;
‘Antico,’ _35_;
‘di Prato,’ _35_, _118_, _127_.

Verdun, _266_.

Verhaecht, _227_.

Verona;
marble, 39;
S. Maria in Organo, _306_.

Verrocchio, _199_;
his ‘Boy with a Dolphin,’ _33_;
his sarcophagus in S. Lorenzo, _112_;
his Colleoni statue, _200_.

Versiglia, the, _125_.

‘Via dei Magistrati,’ see ‘Florence,’ ‘Uffizi.’

Victoria and Albert Museum, _136_, _156_, _189_, _311_, _313_.

Vignola, _81_.

Villa;
Careggi, _33_, 228;
Farnesina, _301_, _171_;
of Hadrian, _303_;
Madama, _89_;
Medici, _40_, _105_, _107_, _109_;
Papa Giulio, _108_;
Poggio Imperiale, _114_.

Villani, _Chronicle_, 34, _35_.

Vitreous pastes, coloured, _277_, _311_ f.

Vitruvius, 25, _51_, _65_, _66_, _68_, 75, 79, 80, _135_, _146_, _171_,
_220_, _225_, _287_, _291_.

Volterra, Daniele da, _53_.

‘Volterrano’ (Volterra gypsum plaster), _249_.

Walnut oil, see ‘Oil, nut.’

Walnut wood;
for carving, 174;
as ground for inlays, 262.

Wax;
its use by the modeller, 148, _188_ f.;
by the bronze founder, 160 f.;
coloured, its preparation and use, 148 f., _188_ f.;
as setting for portable mosaics, _136_.

Westminster Abbey, waxen effigies at, _188_.

Wheel, the, for working hard stones, _112_, 167, 168.

White;
of egg, 234, 249;
for fresco (bianco Sangiovanni), _221_;
lead white (biacca), _221_, 230, 236;
for tempera, 224.

Whitening, _241_, _242_, _294_.

Wilkinson, Sir Gardner, _102_.

Wilson, Charles Heath, _Life of Michelangelo_, _310_.

Winckelmann, _104_.

Wire-drawing plate, 280.

Wolf, porphyry, 28, _107_.

Wood;
carving, 173 f.;
engraving, 281 f.;
inlaying, see ‘Tarsia.’

Yellow stain for glass, 270, _311_.

‘Zeus,’ of Pheidias, _181_.

Zinc, ingredient in bronze, 164.

Zirkel, _Petrographie_, _49_.

Zobi, _Notizie ... dei Lavori ... in Pietre Dure_, _109_, _114_ f.

GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO.
LTD.

-----

Footnote 1:

Berenson, _The Drawings of the Florentine Painters_, London, 1903, 1,
p. 18, says that Vasari ‘was an indifferent connoisseur and a poor
historian; but he was a great appreciator ... and a passionate
anecdote-monger. Now the Anecdote must have sharp contrasts....’

Footnote 2:

The materials for our knowledge of Vasari and his works are derived
from his own Autobiography and his notes on himself in the Lives of
other artists, as well as from the _Ragionamenti_ and from the
_Letters_, printed by Milanesi in the eighth volume of the Sansoni
edition of Vasari’s writings, or previously printed by Gaye in the
third volume of the _Carteggio_.

Footnote 3:

Before Vasari published his _Lives_, at least eight editions of
Vitruvius had appeared. The Editio Princeps, ‘curante Jo. Sulpitio
Verulano,’ is believed to have been issued at Rome about 1486, and in
1496 and 1497 reprints were published at Florence and at Venice. In
1511 appeared the important edition, with emendations and
illustrations, by the famous architect Fra Giocondo of Verona, and
this was reprinted in the Giunta edition at Florence in 1513. Other
editions saw the light in 1522, 1523, 1543, and 1550. An Italian
translation was published in 1521, a French one in 1547, and in 1548
one in German. The reverence of the architects of the Renaissance for
Vitruvius was unbounded, and Michelangelo is said to have remarked
that if a man could draw he would be able by the help of Vitruvius to
become a good architect.

Footnote 4:

Leon Battista Alberti shares with Brunelleschi the distinction of
representing in its highest form the artistic culture of the early age
of Humanism. His principal work _De Re Aedificatoria_, or, as it is
also called, _De Architectura_, was published after his death, in
1485. It is divided, like the work of Vitruvius, into ten books, and
is an exceedingly comprehensive treatise on the architectural art both
in theory and practice, and on the position of architecture in
relation to civilization and to society at large. It is written in a
noble and elevated style, and, as the title implies, in Latin. It was
translated into Italian by Bartoli and into English by J. Leoni (three
volumes, folio, 1726). Alberti also wrote shorter tracts on Sculpture
and Painting, as well as other works of a less specially artistic
order.

Footnote 5:

See Note on ‘Porphyry and Porphyry Quarries’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Architecture, postea, p. 101, and A on the
Frontispiece, which gives representations in colour of the stones
Vasari mentions in these sections, omitting those familiarly known.

Footnote 6:

If a stone be comparatively soft when quarried and become harder after
exposure to the air, this is due to the elimination in the air of
moisture that it held when in the earth. In a dry climate like that of
Egypt there is little or no moisture for stones to hold, and the
Egyptian porphyry, Mr W. Brindley reports, is quite as hard when
freshly quarried as after exposure. Vasari repeats this remark when he
is dealing with granite in § 6, postea, p. 41. He has derived it from
Alberti, who in _De Architectura_, bk. II, ch. vii, notices perfectly
correctly that the question is one of the comparative amount of
moisture in the stone.

Footnote 7:

‘Temple of Bacchus’ was the name given at the Renaissance to the
memorial chapel containing the tomb of Constantia, daughter of
Constantine the Great, on the Via Nomentana close to S. Agnese, and
now known as S. Costanza. The name was suggested by the mosaics with
vintage scenes on the barrel vault of the aisle, which are of great
interest and beauty. In Vasari’s time this still contained the
porphyry sarcophagus where Constantia was laid, and of this he goes on
to speak. In 1788 Pius VI transferred it to his new Sala a Croce Greca
in the Vatican, where it now stands.

Footnote 8:

This is the second of the two vast cubical porphyry sarcophagi in the
Croce Greca, and it is believed that it served once to contain the
mortal remains of Helena, mother of Constantine. It is much finer in
execution than the other, and exhibits a large number of figures in
high relief, though incoherently composed. The subject may be the
victories of Constantine. It was originally in the monument called
‘Torre Pignattara,’ the supposed mausoleum of Helena on the Via
Labicana, and was transported in the twelfth century by Anastatius IV
to the Lateran, whence Pius VI had it transferred to the Vatican. The
restoration of these huge sarcophagi cost an immense amount in money
and time. Massi (_Museo Pio-Clementino_, Roma, 1846, p. 157) states
that the second one absorbed the labour of twenty-five artificers, who
worked at it day and night for the space of nine years. Strzygowski,
_Orient oder Rom_, 1901, notices the sarcophagi.

Footnote 9:

Urns, or, as the Italians called them, ‘conche,’ of porphyry, basalt,
granite and marble existed in great abundance in the Roman Thermae
where they were used for bathing purposes. From the seventh century
onwards the Christians adopted these for sepulchral use and placed
them in the churches, where many of them are still to be seen
(Lanciani, _Storia degli Scavi_, Roma, 1902, I, 3, and Marangoni,
_Delle Cose Gentilesche_, etc., Roma, 1744). Hence Vasari speaks of
the porphyry urn of the Piazza della Rotonda (the Pantheon) as of
sepulchral origin, and it was indeed rumoured to have held the ashes
of Agrippa, and to have stood once on the apex of the pediment of the
Pantheon portico. It was however an ancient bath vessel, and was found
when Eugenius IV, 1431–39, first excavated and paved the piazza in
front of the Pantheon. It was placed with two Egyptian lions in front
of the portico, where it may be seen in the view of the Piazza della
Rotonda in G. F. Falda’s _Vedute delle Fabbriche_, etc., of 1665.
Clement XII, 1730–40, who was a Corsini, had it transported for his
own sepulchre to the Corsini chapel in the Lateran, where it now
stands, with a modern cover. Vasari evidently admired this urn, and he
mentions it again in the life of Antonio Rossellino, where he says of
the sarcophagus of the monument of the Cardinal of Portugal in S.
Miniato, ‘La cassa tiene il garbo di quella di porfido che è in Roma
sulla piazza della Ritonda.’ (_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, III, 95.) See
Lanciani, _Il Pantheon_, etc., Prima Relazione, Roma, 1882, p. 15,
where the older authorities are quoted. Of all the bath vases of this
kind now visible in Rome, the finest known to the writers is the urn
of green porphyry, a rare and beautiful stone, behind the high altar
of S. Nicola in Carcere. It is nearly six ft. long, and on each side
has two Medusa heads in relief worked in the same piece, with the
usual lion’s head on one side at the bottom for egress of water. The
workmanship is superb. It may be noted that the existing baptismal
font in St. Peter’s, in the first chapel on the left on entering, is
the cover of the porphyry sarcophagus of Hadrian turned upside down.
It measures 13 ft. in length by 6 ft. in width.

Footnote 10:

In chapter VI of the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, postea, p. 93,
Vasari writes of the ‘casa di Messer Egidio et Fabio Sasso’ as being
‘in Parione.’ See Note at the end of the ‘Introduction’ to
Architecture on ‘The Sassi, della Valle, and other Collections of
Antiques of the early part of the sixteenth century,’ postea, p. 102
f.

Footnote 11:

This is the ‘Apollo’ at Naples, No. 6281. See Note as above.

Footnote 12:

See Note above mentioned.

Footnote 13:

Now lost.

Footnote 14:

Now in the Boboli Gardens at Florence. See Note on the Sassi, etc.,
Collections.

Footnote 15:

See Note on ‘The Revival of Sculpture in Porphyry,’ postea, p. 110 f.

Footnote 16:

Reciprocating saws of the kind Vasari mentions, mostly of soft steel
or iron, and also circular saws, are in use at the present day, the
abrasives being emery, or a new material called ‘carborundum.’ This
consists in minute crystals of intense hardness gained by fusing by an
electric current a mixture of clay and similar substances. See _The
Times_, Engineering Supplement, Oct. 31, 1906.

Footnote 17:

It needs hardly to be said that the ancients had no ‘secrets’ such as
Vasari hints at. Mr W. Brindley believes that the antique methods of
quarrying and working hard stones were ‘precisely the same as our own
were until a few years ago,’ that is to say that the blocks were
detached from the quarry and split with metal wedges, dressed roughly
to shape with large and small picks, and ‘rubbed down with flat stone
rubbers and sand, then polished with bronze or copper rubbers with
emery powder’ (_Transactions_, _R.I.B.A._, 1888, p. 25). At a very
early date in Egyptian history, even before the dynastic period, the
hardest stones (not excepting porphyry) were successfully manipulated,
and vases and bowls of these materials cut with exquisite precision.
Professor Flinders Petrie found evidence that at the epoch of the
great pyramids tubular drills and bronze saws set with gem-stones
(corundum) were employed by the Egyptians in hollowing basalt
sarcophagi and cutting the harder stones (_The Pyramids and Temples of
Ghizeh_, London, 1883, p. 173 f.). There is however no evidence of the
use of these advanced appliances by the Greeks or Romans. It must not
be forgotten that even before the age of metals the neolithic
artificers of western Europe could not only cut and bore, but also
ornament with patterns, stone hammer-heads of the most intractable
materials, with the aid only of pieces of wood twirled or rubbed on
the place and plentifully fed with sand and water. The stone axe- and
hammer-heads so common in pre-historic collections were bored with
tubular drills, made probably from reeds, which cut out a solid core.
Such cores can still be seen in partly-pierced hammer-heads in the
Museum at Stockholm, and elsewhere.

Footnote 18:

Fig. 1 shows the inscription of which Vasari writes and the situation
of it on the riser of the step is seen on Plate II. The porphyry slab
is 3 ft. 5 in. long and 5½ in. high. The tongues at the ends are in
separate pieces. The letters, nineteen not eighteen in number, are
close upon 2 in. in height and are cleanly cut with =V=-shaped
incisions. The illustration shows the form of the letters which Vasari
justly praises. The name ‘Oricellario’ or -us was derived by the
distinguished Florentine family that bore it from the plant Oricello,
orchil, which was employed for making a beautiful purple dye, from the
importation of which from the Levant the family gained wealth and
importance. The shortened popular form of the name ‘Rucellai’ is that
by which the family is familiarly known. Giovanni Rucellai gave a
commission to Alberti to complete the façade of S. Maria Novella,
which was carried out by 1470. The Bernardo Rucellai of the
inscription, the son of Giovanni, was known as a historian, and owned
the gardens where the Platonic Academy had at one time its place of
meeting. Fineschi, in his _Forestiero Istruito in S. Maria Novella_,
Firenze, 1790, says that Bernardo desired to be buried in front of the
church and had the inscription cut for sepulchral purposes. The
existence of sepulchral ‘avelli’ of distinguished Florentine families
at the front of the church makes this seem likely, and in this case
the lettering would be after Alberti’s time, though as Fineschi
believes, the earliest existing work of the kind in hard stone at
Florence. See Rev. J. Wood Brown, _S. Maria Novella_, Edinburgh, 1902,
p. 114.

Footnote 19:

After the fashion of an ordinary carpenter’s ‘brace.’

Footnote 20:

See Note on ‘The Porphyry Tazza of the Sala Rotonda of the Vatican,’
at the close of the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, postea, p. 108.

Footnote 21:

See Note at the end of the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, postea, p.
110 f., on ‘Francesco del Tadda and, the Revival of Sculpture in
Porphyry.’

Footnote 22:

About 4 ft. 9 in. In a letter of May 1557 in Gaye, _Carteggio_, II,
419, Vasari mentions the work as nearly finished.

Footnote 23:

The palace in question is the well-known Palazzo Vecchio at Florence,
which was adapted for the Grand-ducal residence largely by Vasari
himself under the Grand Dukes Cosimo and his successor Francesco. The
fountain is the one at present in the courtyard of the palace,
carrying the beautiful bronze figure of a boy with a dolphin, by
Verrocchio. This ‘putto’ was brought in from the famous Medicean Villa
at Careggi, the seat of the Platonic Academy, for the purpose of
completing the fountain of which Vasari here gives an account. The
porphyry work, both in design and execution, is worthy of the
beautiful bronze that surmounts it. The basin rests on a well-turned
dwarf pillar of porphyry and this on a square base of the same
material. The surfaces are true and the arrises sharp, and the whole
is carried out in a workmanlike manner, and by no means betrays a
‘prentice hand.’

Footnote 24:

See Vasari’s Life of Michelangelo, _Opere_, ed. Milanesi, VII, 260.

Footnote 25:

That is Cosimo ‘Pater Patriae,’ who died at Careggi in 1464. The
portrait in question is shown on Plate III. For what is known about
this and other works by Francesco del Tadda, see postea, p. 113 f.

Footnote 26:

See Note on ‘Porphyry and Porphyry Quarries,’ postea, p. 101.

Footnote 27:

This remark is evidently derived by Vasari from Leon Battista Alberti,
who writes as follows in _De Re Aedificatoria_, Lib. II, ‘At nos de
porphirite lapide compertum habemus non modo flammis non excoqui,
verum et contigua quaeque circumhereant saxa intra fornacem reddere ut
ignibus ne quidquam satis exquoquantur.’ The sense of ‘excoqui’ in
this passage, and of Vasari’s ‘cuocer,’ is somewhat obscure, but can
be interpreted by reference to old writings on stones, in which great
importance is given to their comparative power of resistance to fire.
See Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XXXVI, 22, etc., etc. Theophrastus, Περὶ
Λίθων, § 4, has the following: ‘Stones have many special
properties ... for some are consumed by fire and others resist it ...
and in respect of the action of the fire and the burning they show
many differences....’ The ‘excoqui’ of Alberti probably refers to the
resistance of porphyry to the fire as compared with the submission to
it of stones like limestone, which are ‘burnt out’ or calcined by the
heat. Vasari’s ‘non si cuoce’ is not an adequate translation of
Alberti’s word ‘_ex_coqui.’ With a blast heat porphyry fuses to a sort
of obsidian or slag, but a moderate heat only causes it to lose its
fine purple hue and become grey. This is the ‘rawness’ implied in
Vasari’s word ‘incrudelisce.’ To us rawness suggests raw meat which is
redder in colour than cooked, but the Italians, who are not great meat
eaters, would have in their minds the action of fire on cakes and
similar comestibles that darken when baked, and an Italian artist
would think too of the action of fire on clay, ‘che viene rossa quando
ella è cotta’ as he says in chapter XXV of the ‘Introduction’ to
Painting. See Frontispiece, where A^1, compared with A, shows the
effect of fire on the stone.

Footnote 28:

The two porphyry columns, that stand one on each side of Ghiberti’s
Old Testament gates at the eastern door of the Baptistry of Florence,
serve to point a moral about the untrustworthiness of popular sayings.
When these apply to monuments it usually happens that the monument
itself hopelessly discredits the saying. The porphyry columns in
question are perfectly normal in colour and show no recognizable trace
of the action of fire. Villani (_Chronicle_, bk. IV, ch. 31) says of
these columns ‘The Pisani sent them to Florence covered with scarlet
cloth, and some said that before they sent them they put them in the
fire for envy.’ If we rationalize a little we can imagine that the
scarlet cloth, the use of which by the Pisans in connection with
porphyry shows a most lamentable absence of taste in colour, would at
first sight seem to take the colour out of the porphyry and make it
look grey through contrast. Hence may have arisen the impression which
gave rise to the saying. Boccaccio, in his commentary on the passage
in Dante (_Inferno_, XV, 67), in which the ‘blindness’ of the
Florentines is referred to, notices this affair of the columns as one
explanation of this accusation against his countrymen.

Footnote 29:

On the subject of serpentine some misapprehension exists.
Mineralogists apply the term to a soft stone of a green hue with long
curling markings through it, which in their form suggest lacertine
creatures and account for the name of the stone. It derives its colour
from the presence of a large percentage of manganese in union with
silica, and contains twelve or so per cent. of water. A penknife
scores it easily. The ‘Verde di Prato,’ a dark stone used in bands on
Tuscan buildings, of which there is question in a subsequent section,
postea, p. 43, is a species of true serpentine.

On the other hand the word ‘serpentine’ is in common use for a dark
green stone of quite a different kind, that occurs very commonly in
ancient Roman tesselated pavements, and it is this false serpentine
that Vasari has in view. It is very hard indeed, and a penknife does
not mark it. Professor Bonney describes it as ‘a somewhat altered
porphyritic basalt,’ and it is full of scattered crystals of a paler
green composed of plagioclasic felspar. These crystals average about
the size of grains of maize and they sometimes cross each other, thus
justifying Vasari’s description of them. A specimen is B, on the
Frontispiece. This stone was found in Egypt, and it is probably the
‘Augustan’ and ‘Tiberian’ stone mentioned by Pliny, _Hist. Nat._,
XXXVI, 7. See _Transactions_, _R.I.B.A._, 1888, p. 9. The chief quarry
of it however was in the Peloponnesus to the south of Sparta, and the
produce of this is called by Pliny, loc. cit., ‘Lacedaemonium viride.’
It should be noted that ‘Verde Antico,’ a green marble of which the
chief quarries are in Thessaly, is distinct from both the true and the
false ‘serpentine.’

Footnote 30:

Cipollaccio. It is not clear what is the difference, if any exist,
between the stone thus called and the ‘Cipollino’ which Vasari
discusses in a later section, postea, p. 49. The latter is a name in
universal employment, but the term ‘Cipollaccio’ is not known to
Cavaliere Marchionni, the courteous Director of the Florentine State
Manufactory of Mosaics, nor is it recognized at Carrara. On the other
hand it is given as the name of a marble in Tomaseo’s _Dizionario_
(though probably only on the strength of this mention in Vasari) and a
stone worker at Settignano claimed to know and use the word. On the
material see the Note on ‘Cipollino,’ postea, p. 49. The terminations
‘-accio’ and ‘-ino’ are dear to the Florentines—Mas_accio_ and
Maso_lino_ will occur to everyone.

Footnote 31:

This is the ‘Cortile di Belvedere’ where the Laocoon and Apollo
Belvedere are located. See Note 30.

Footnote 32:

On Michelangelo’s niche and fountain see the Note on ‘The Cortile of
the Belvedere in the Vatican in the sixteenth century,’ at the end of
the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, postea, p. 115. The ‘river god’ is
the ‘Tigris’ of the Vatican.

Footnote 33:

Vasari’s description of the variegated stones called breccias is clear
and good. Corsi, _Delle Pietre Antiche_, Roma, 1845, p. 139, defines
breccias as ‘marbles formed of numerous fragments of other marbles
either of one colour or of different colours, embedded in a calcareous
cement.’ The mineralogist distinguishes breccias from conglomerates by
the fact that in the former the fragments embedded are angular, in the
latter round like pebbles. The fragments need not be of marble. These
breccias were greatly used at the Renaissance, as Vasari indicates,
for the framing of doorways and for chimney pieces, but it may be
questioned whether they are really suitable for such architectural
use. For door jambs and similar constructive members a self-coloured
stone, with its greater severity of effect, would be preferable. On
the other hand, for panels and inlays and decorative uses generally,
the variegated stones are quite in place. See C, D on the
Frontispiece.

Footnote 34:

See Note on ‘Tuscan Marble Quarries’ postea, p. 119 f.

Footnote 35:

S. Giusto, commonly called S. Giusto a Monte Martiri, lies by Monte
Rantoli, between the valleys of the Ema and Greve, to the south of
Florence.

Footnote 36:

Breccia columns answering to this description are to be seen in the
lower part of the Boboli Gardens to the west of the ‘island basin’
with John of Bologna’s ‘Oceanus.’

Footnote 37:

The Egyptian breccia is found at Hamamat to the east of Luxor. It
consists, Mr Brindley writes, in rich-coloured silicious fragments
cemented together, and is very difficult to work and to polish, ‘owing
to the cementing matrix being frequently harder than the boulders.’
Its general colour is greenish and it is called sometimes ‘Breccia
Verde.’ The most important known work executed in this breccia is the
grand sarcophagus of Nectanebes I, about 378 B.C., now in the British
Museum. It is on the left in the large Hall a little beyond the
Rosetta stone. _Transactions_, _R.I.B.A._, 1888, p. 24 ff.

Footnote 38:

Signor Cornish, the courteous castellan of the Royal Palace, believes
this to be the urn that now serves as the basin of the fountain
surmounted with a figure of the Arno, near the Annalessa gate of the
Boboli Gardens. It has two masks carved on the front, as is common in
antique _conche_ of the kind.

Footnote 39:

On entering the porch or narthex of St. Peter’s by the central
archway, the visitor may note on each side of the external opening a
column of breccia, or strictly speaking of ‘pavonazzetto brecciato,’
over twenty-five feet in height. They are worn, patched, and
discoloured, and evidently come from some earlier building. It can be
reasonably conjectured that these are the two columns to which Vasari
refers, and that they were originally in the old basilica which was
being replaced in Vasari’s time by the existing structure. Vasari
would see them in their original position forming part of the
colonnade between nave and aisles, for the entrance part of the old
Constantinian basilica was still standing in the sixteenth century,
and the columns were only removed to their present position when Paul
V constructed the existing façade at the beginning of the century
following.

Footnote 40:

The familiar red Verona marble is not a true breccia, but a fossil
marble.

Footnote 41:

‘Granite’ is from the Italian ‘granito,’ which means the ‘grained’
stone.

Footnote 42:

The ‘grandissimi vasi de’ bagni,’ to which Vasari here refers, are
those vast granite bath-shaped urns, some twenty feet long, of which
the best known is probably the specimen that stands by the obelisk in
the centre of the amphitheatre of the Boboli Gardens at Florence.
This, with a fellow urn, that stands not far off in the Piazzale della
Meridiana, came from the Villa Medici at Rome, and they may have been
seen in Rome by Vasari before they were placed in that collection. No
such urns are now to be found in or about any of the three churches at
Rome here mentioned by Vasari. Documents however, recently published
in the first volume of Lanciani’s _Storia degli Scavi_, pp. 3–5, show
that there stood formerly in the Piazza S. Salvatore in Lauro, north
west from the Piazza Navona, a ‘conca maximae capacitatis,’ to which
Vasari no doubt refers. Two other such conchae were found in the
Thermae of Agrippa, and one was placed by Paul II, 1464–71, in the
Piazza di S. Marco, which was then called ‘Piazza della Conca di S.
Marco,’ while the other was located by Paul III (Farnese), 1534–49, in
front of his palace. Cardinal Odoardo Farnese afterwards united the
two and formed with them the two fountains now in the Piazza Farnese.
Lanciani also mentions a ‘conca di bigio in S. Pietro in Vinculis.’
There is a fine specimen, which may be one of those Vasari has
mentioned, in front of the little church of S. Stefano at the back of
St. Peter’s. We wish cordially to thank Signor Cornish, of the Royal
Palace, Florence, for information kindly given about the Boboli
monuments.

Footnote 43:

The quarries opened by the Romans in Elba are now practically
abandoned. The Catalogue to the Italian Section of the London
International Exhibition of 1862 speaks of the granites of Elba as
‘but little used, although blocks and columns of almost any size may
be had.’ In the late mediaeval and Renaissance period however, the
quarries of Elba were worked, and the granite columns of the Baptistry
of Pisa were cut there in the twelfth century, while Cosimo I
extracted thence the granite block out of which he cut the tazza of
the Boboli Gardens mentioned by Vasari a few sentences further on.
Jervis, _I Tesori Sotterranei dell’ Italia_, Torino, 1889, p. 315,
speaks of the remains of Roman quarrying works to be seen on the
Island. He believes that the grey columns of the Pantheon (see Note
infra) are Elban, and Cellini (_Scultura_, ch. vi) claims an Elban
origin for the granite column of S. Trinità, Florence, which is
certainly antique and of Roman provenance, see postea, p. 110 f.

Footnote 44:

The portico of the Pantheon is now supported by sixteen monoliths of
granite nearly 40 ft. high. Seven of these in the foremost row are of
grey granite, the eighth (that at the north-east angle) and all those
behind are of red granite. The present portico is a reconstruction by
Hadrian in octostyle form of the original decastyle portico built by
Agrippa. Agrippa’s portico had columns of a grey granite called
‘granito del foro,’ because it is the same kind that is used for the
columns of the Forum of Trajan (Basilica Ulpia). This according to
Corsi, _Delle Pietre Antiche_, Roma, 1845, is Egyptian from Syene, the
Lapis Psaronius of Pliny, and Professor Lanciani, who has kindly
written in reply to our question on the subject, endorses this
opinion, though Jervis, see above, thinks the grey Pantheon columns
are Elban. When Hadrian reconstructed the portico, he added columns of
red granite, which are admitted by all to be Egyptian. The two columns
at the east of the present portico were brought in in the year 1666 to
fill gaps caused by the fall of the two Hadrianic ones. They came from
the Baths of Nero and were found near S. Luigi dei Francesi. See
postea, p. 128 f.

Footnote 45:

See Note 4, ante, p. 26.

Footnote 46:

The form of the pick Vasari seems to have in his mind is given in the
sketch, C, Fig. 2, postea, p. 48. Among other tools figured in the
illustration, A and B are some that are employed at this day in Egypt
for the working of hard stones.

Footnote 47:

This tazza is still in evidence and serves as the basin of the great
fountain in the ‘island’ lake in the western part of the Boboli
Gardens. It is said that Duke Cosimo extracted a second tazza larger
than this one from the Elban quarry but it was unfortunately broken.
Signor Cornish says the fragments are still to be seen. The sculptor
Tribolo was sent to Elba to obtain the basins. Of the ‘tavola’ or
table nothing is known.

Footnote 48:

In this apparently innocent section Vasari has mixed up notices of
some half-dozen different kinds of stone, on most of which his ideas
are somewhat vague. Hence a separate Note is required, and this will
be found at the end of the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, postea, p.
117 (‘Paragon and other Stones associated with it by Vasari’). The
letters (a), (b), etc., are referred to in the Note.

Footnote 49:

The ‘Apollo’ at Naples, in basalt, no. 6262. See Note, postea, p. 104.

Footnote 50:

The porphyry ‘Apollo’ at Naples, no. 6281. See Note, as above.

Footnote 51:

The five eastern window openings of S. Miniato are filled with slabs
of antique pavonazzetto with red-purple markings, nearly two inches
thick and measuring in surface about 9 ft. by 3 ft. The windows are
square headed. The slabs transmit the light unequally according to the
darker or lighter patches in their markings, but the effect is
pleasing. Similar window fillings are to be seen at Orvieto. ‘Almost
any marble,’ it has been said, ‘with crystalline statuary ground, an
inch thick, placed on the sunny side of a church in Italy would admit
sufficient light for worship, but it would not do in our variable
climate.’ The so-called Onyx marbles of Algeria and Mexico, as well as
Oriental alabasters, are specially suitable for the purpose here in
view. The ‘white and yellowish’ eastern marbles that Vasari writes of
were probably of this kind.

Footnote 52:

By ‘the same quarries’ Vasari means, no doubt, those of Egypt and
Greece, of Carrara, of Prato, etc., mentioned in § 7 in connection
with ‘paragon.’ On the subject see the Note on ‘Tuscan Marble
Quarries,’ postea, p. 119f.

Footnote 53:

The reference is to the two so-called ‘Horse-Tamers’ opposite the
Quirinal Palace at Rome, that probably once stood in front of the
Thermae of Constantine, which occupied the slope of the Quirinal. The
figures of the youths, perhaps representing the Dioscuri, are eighteen
feet high, and the material was long ago pronounced Thasian marble
(see Matz-Duhn, _Antike Bildwerke in Rom_, Leipzig, 1881, I, 268). The
works are Roman copies of Greek originals. They have recently been
overhauled, with very good result as regards their appearance. The
sculptor, Professor Ettore Ferrari, who superintended this work,
reports that the material is ‘marmo greco,’ which may be held to
settle the question in favour of Greek as against Luna marble.

Footnote 54:

The ‘Nile’ is now in the Braccio Nuovo of the Vatican, the
fellow-statue, the ‘Tiber,’ see ante, p. 36, in the Louvre at Paris.
They are said to have been discovered at Rome early in the sixteenth
century, near S. Maria Sopra Minerva where was the Temple of Isis and
Serapis, and Pope Leo X had them placed in the Cortile di Belvedere of
the Vatican. They were removed to Paris in ‘the year X’ by Napoleon,
and in 1815 the ‘Nile’ was sent back to Rome, the ‘Tiber’ remaining in
the Louvre. The ‘Nile’ is much the better work of art and is a copy or
a study from an Alexandrian original, perhaps the ‘Nilus’ in basalt,
which, according to Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XXXVI, 7, Augustus dedicated
in the Temple of Peace. Amelung, in his _Sculpturen des Vaticanischen
Museums_, only states that the ‘Nile’ is in ‘großkörnigem Marmor.’ The
material of the statue certainly differs from that of the restored
parts, and we should guess it as Pentelic marble repaired with
Carrara. About the ‘Tiber,’ Froener, in the Louvre Catalogue, states
that it is of Pentelic marble, and it is so labelled. Our measurements
show that both statues required blocks of the dimensions 10 ft. by 5
ft. by 5 ft. in height. It may be noted that the finest statuary
marble known, that of the island of Paros, is not to be obtained in
very large blocks. That out of which the Hermes of Praxiteles has been
carved must have measured about 8 ft. by 5 ft. by 3 ft. 6 in. and is
considered an exceptionally fine block. Pentelic and Carrara marble
can be obtained in much larger pieces. We saw not long ago in the
modern quarries behind Mount Pentelicus a block nearly 20 ft. in cube.
One seventeen feet long has recently been cut in the Monte Altissimo
quarries in the Carrara mountains for a copy of the ‘David’ of
Michelangelo. A piece of Monte Altissimo marble of the best quality is
shown as J on the Frontispiece.

Footnote 55:

This remark shows a just observation on the part of Vasari. The Greek
nose is markedly different from the Florentine. The latter, as may be
seen in the ‘St. George’ of Donatello, or the ‘David’ of Michelangelo,
has more shape than the classical nose. There is more difference
marked between the nasal bone and the cartilaginous prolongation
towards the tip, and there is more modelling about the nostril, which
the Italian sculptors make thinner and more sensitive.

Footnote 56:

The Carfagnana, or more properly Garfagnana, is the name applied to
the upper part of the valley of the Serchio, between the Apennines and
the Apuan Alps, on the western slopes of which the marble quarries are
situated. See Note on ‘Tuscan Marble Quarries,’ postea, p. 119 f., for
the different marbles and their provenance.

Footnote 57:

Benvenuto Cellini, _Scultura_, ch. iv, mentions this black marble from
Carrara, which he says is very hard and brittle and difficult to work.
Black marble is still quarried in the Carrara district, but only to a
small extent.

Footnote 58:

The grey marble is that known now as ‘Bardiglio’; the grey-veined
‘Marmo-’ or ‘Bardiglio-’ ‘fiorito’; the red, ‘Breccia.’

Footnote 59:

For ‘Cipollino’ see footnote 70 on p. 49, postea.

Footnote 60:

The ‘Mischiati’ are the variegated stones we know as ‘Breccias,’
already noticed in § 5. Vasari explains the names ‘Saligni’ and
‘Campanini’ in § 10. The terms are not now in use.

Footnote 61:

The ‘David’ stood formerly on the left hand side as one entered the
gateway of the Ducal Palace, or Palazzo Vecchio. It is 15 feet high.
In 1873 it was removed, and is now in the Academy, but Bandinello’s
group still holds its original position to the right of the entrance,
on the side towards the Uffizi.

Footnote 62:

The existing figure of Neptune is the work of Ammanati, to whom
Florence owes the stately Ponte S. Trinità. The subsidiary figures of
sea-deities on the fountain are by other hands.

Footnote 63:

See Note, postea, p. 119 f.

Footnote 64:

On the subject of the Seravezza quarries and their exploitation by
Michelangelo see Note, as above. With regard to the Façade of S.
Lorenzo much might be said, as the project for its completion has now
again come forward into prominence. See articles by Sig. B. Supino in
_L’Arte_, Anno IV, fasc. 7, and M. Marcel Reymond in the _Revue
Archéologique_ for 1906. It is well known that Brunelleschi, who
reconstructed the basilica in the fifteenth century, left the façade
incomplete and with no indication of his design for it. As it was the
church of the Medici, the popes of this family, Leo X and Clement VII,
furthered by means of a competition a grand project for its
completion; and in this work Michelangelo was for many years involved.
Drawings of his for the proposed façade are to be seen in the Casa
Buonarroti, and he prepared marbles, as noticed in the Note, postea,
p. 119 f., but the preparations proved abortive.

What Vasari says about Michelangelo’s façade that it ‘è oggi abbozzata
fuor della porta di detta chiesa,’ and that there is one column on the
spot, is interesting but not very easy to understand. Milanesi, in a
note on this passage in his edition of Vasari, I, 119, going one
better than the Lemonnier editors, gives a circumstantial account to
the effect that ‘The preliminary work (abbozzata) which was outside
the church in the days of Vasari, was buried in the first years of the
seventeenth century, along with other architectural fragments, in a
trench excavated on the piazza along the left side of the church.’
Unfortunately among the authorities at S. Lorenzo this statement is
smiled at as a mere popular legend, but it is hoped that in connection
with the long-delayed completion, which is now again on the _tapis_,
the truth on this matter will come to light.

Footnote 65:

Milanesi remarks, ad loc., that for ‘Pietrasanta’ Vasari should have
written ‘Carrara,’ as the quarries at the latter place were actually
exploited by the ancients, whereas the Pietrasanta workings were only
opened up in the time of Michelangelo. See postea, p. 122. The
Pietrasanta people however do claim that the Romans were at work among
their hills.

Footnote 66:

There are abundant instances both from Greek and from Roman times of
statues, heads, architectural members, columns, and the like, blocked
out in the quarries, and still lying unfinished as they were left many
hundreds of years ago.

Footnote 67:

Vasari gives a notice of Giovanni da Nola, whose surname was Merliano,
in the _Lives_ of Alfonso Lombardi and other sculptors. See _Opere_,
ed. Milanesi, V, 94 f. He there describes the tomb mentioned above,
which was to have been transported to Spain, but owing to the death of
the viceroy, Don Pietro, Marquis of Villafranca, it has remained in S.
Giacomo at Naples.

Footnote 68:

Some of the tools of sculptors and masons referred to by Vasari are
shown in Fig. 2, E-J, above.

Footnote 69:

A worker in stones at Settignano knew of drills of the weight of about
twelve pounds each, and thought twenty pounds conceivable, for very
large work.

Footnote 70:

Vasari seems to refer to the common greyish marble popularly called
‘Sicilian.’ There are finer kinds of veined marble called ‘fioriti,’
‘flowered,’ including ‘marmi fioriti’ and ‘bardigli fioriti,’ the last
in two shades of grey.

Footnote 71:

i.e., the breccias noticed in § 5.

Footnote 72:

‘Cipollino’ marble, a very familiar material, receives its name from
‘cipolla,’ an onion, but there is a curious divergence of opinion as
to the reason of the appellation. (1) The onion colour the marble
shows in many specimens; (2) the onion-like shape of the large bossy
markings which occur in the marble; (3) the fact that it is disposed
to scale away under the influence of the weather like the coats of an
onion; and (4) the concentric curves in which the edges of these coats
are seen to lie in a section across the grain, have all been adduced
as explanatory of the name. Herrmann in his _Steinbruchindustrie_,
Berlin, 1899, p. 68, pronounces for the third, and this is also the
opinion of Corsi, who says, _Pietre Antiche_, p. 97, ‘gli scarpellini
lo conoscono sotto il nome di cipollino, per la ragione che,
trovandosi fra la sostanza calcare di tel marmo lunghi e spessi strati
di mica, facilmente su tali strati si divide a somiglianza della
cipolla.’ Zirkel however, in his _Lehrbuch der Petrographie_, Leipzig,
1894, III, 452, pronounces for the fourth, which seems on the whole
the one to be preferred. There are two cipollino columns standing in
the Roman Forum a little to the east of the temple of Antoninus and
Faustina, famous for its monoliths of this same marble, that in the
concentric wavy lines marking the alternate layers in the stone remind
us curiously of an onion cut in half. See for a specimen H on the
Frontispiece.

Footnote 73:

Vasari explains the name ‘saligno’ as ‘salt-like.’ The term is not
recognized at Carrara, nor in the Florentine manufactory of Mosaics.

Footnote 74:

The term ‘campanino’ for a kind of marble is not known now in the
Carrara district.

Footnote 75:

About 10 miles south east of Carrara.

Footnote 76:

Near Pietrasanta in the Apuan Alps.

Footnote 77:

On the promontory of Piombino, opposite Elba.

Footnote 78:

In the so-called Pisan Mountains between Pisa and Lucca. For these
places and their quarries see Note on ‘Tuscan Marble Quarries,’
postea, p. 119 f.

Footnote 79:

See Note, as above, especially p. 126.

Footnote 80:

There are great quarries of this stone below Tivoli near the course of
the ancient Anio, now Teverone. The station Bagni on the Roma-Tivoli
railway is close to them. Those near the place called Barco were
exploited by the ancient Romans, while Bernini derived the stone for
the colonnades in front of St. Peter’s from the quarries called ‘Le
Fosse,’ a little to the north of the former. Vitruvius, _De Arch._,
II, vii, 2, writes of the ‘Tiburtina saxa’ as resisting all
destructive agencies save that of fire, and the remark is repeated by
Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XXXVI, 22. Vasari’s account of its origin is
correct. It is a deposit of lime in water, and the cavities in it are
partly caused by plants, moss, etc., round which the deposit has
formed itself and which of course have long ago decayed away. See O on
the Frontispiece. The stone did not come into use at Rome until about
the last century of the Republic, and it was not, like peperino, one
of the old traditional building materials.

Footnote 81:

Vasari evidently refers to the remains of the Templum Sacrae Urbis
behind the present church of Ss. Cosma e Damiano, to which was affixed
the ancient ‘Capitoline’ plan of Rome.

Footnote 82:

See the remarks on Rusticated masonry in § 20, and Notes, postea, pp.
65 and 132.

Footnote 83:

On the ‘round temple,’ and its designer, ‘Maestro Gian,’ see Note on
the subject, postea, p. 128 f.

Footnote 84:

S. Luigi dei Francesi is the national church of the French, and is
situated close to the Palazzo Madama, the meeting place of the Italian
Senate, near the Piazza Navona. The present edifice was built by
Giacomo della Porta and consecrated in 1589. See Note, postea, p. 128
f.

Footnote 85:

For which it offers in the cavities above spoken of an excellent key.

Footnote 86:

Traces of these stucco decorations are still to be seen in the public
entrance to the Colosseum next the Esquiline. They are said to have
been taken as models by some of the plaster-workers of the
Renaissance. See Vasari’s Life of Giovanni da Udine, _Opere_, VI, 553.

Footnote 87:

This is the so-called ‘Sala Regia’ which serves as a vestibule to the
Sistine Chapel. Sixtus IV planned it and San Gallo enlarged it and
began the adornment of the vault with plaster work, which was carried
on afterwards by Perino del Vaga and Daniele da Volterra (Pistolesi,
_Il Vaticano Descritto_, VIII, 89). It is the most richly decorated of
all the Vatican apartments, but is florid and overladen. The stucco
enrichment of the roof is heavy, and the figures in the same material
by Daniele da Volterra that are sprawling on the tops of the doorways
and on the cornices are of the extravagant later Renaissance type. The
contrast between this showy hall and the exquisitely treated
Appartamento Borgia of earlier date is very marked.

Footnote 88:

The Farnese Palace is in the main the work of Antonio da San Gallo,
the younger, who at his death in 1546 had carried up the façade nearly
to the cornice and completed the ground story and half the second
story of the cortile. Michelangelo finished the second or middle story
of the cortile, as far as the architecture went, according to San
Gallo’s design, and added the third story from his own. His are also
the enrichments of the frieze of the second order in the cortile, and
he has the chief credit for the noble external cornice, of which
Vasari writes in this section. It is now rather the fashion to
criticize severely Michelangelo’s architectural forms, and G. Clausse,
_Les San Gallo_, Paris, 1901, condemns his third story of the cortile
and says of his frieze (p. 85), ‘Michelange fit ajouter dans la frise
ces guirlandes et ces mascarons en stuc qui enlèvent à ce beau
portique le caractère de grandeur simple et d’harmonieuse majesté dû à
ses proportions mêmes.’ It will not escape notice that Vasari regards
these ornaments as not in stucco but in the travertine itself. On the
question thus raised Monseigneur Duchesne, the distinguished Director
of the French School at Rome which is housed in the Farnese, has had
the kindness in reply to our inquiry to say that so far as can be
ascertained without the use of scaffolding the ornaments of the frieze
are in stucco, with the exception of the Fleur-de-lys which occur in
the position of key-stones above the centre of each window arch. These
are in travertine, as are the ornaments (trophies of arms etc.) carved
on the metopes of the frieze of the order of the ground story in the
cortile. The point has some interest in connection with the travertine
carvings by the French artist at S. Luigi dei Francesi (see postea, p.
131), and the suggestion of M. Marcel Reymond (loc. cit.) that the
Italians of the first half of the fifteenth century were not
accustomed, as the French were, to execute decorative carvings in soft
stone.

Footnote 89:

The exterior of St. Peter’s is built of travertine, and a walk round
it gives an opportunity for a study of the fine effect of the stone
when used on a vast scale. The details of construction in the
interior, which are lauded by Vasari, are now concealed under the
decoration that covers all the interior surfaces.

Footnote 90:

Lavagna is on the coast about half way between Genoa and Spezzia. The
slate of the district is pronounced by Mr Brindley to be of poor
quality and liable to bleach to a dirty ochre colour like that of
brown paper. In the Official Catalogue of the Italian section of the
International Exhibition of 1862 it is stated that in modern times
also ‘large jars or reservoirs for containing oil, made of this slate,
are employed in Liguria, as well as in the principal maritime dépôts
of the oil trade.’

Footnote 91:

Peperino is a volcanic product in origin quite distinct from
travertine. It consists of ashes and fragments of different materials
compacted together and is called ‘pepper stone’ from the black grains
that occur in it. It was one of the two old traditional building
stones at Rome before the introduction of travertine from the quarries
by Tibur, the other being the coarser and commoner tufa of which the
wall of Servius Tullius was built. The most interesting monument in
the material is the sarcophagus of Lucius Cornelius Scipio Barbatus in
the Vatican, dating from the third century B.C. A characteristic
piece, with the black ‘pepper’ marks, is shown as Q on the
Frontispiece.

Footnote 92:

Istrian stone is a fine-grained limestone of a warm yellowish grey
tint; it is capable of taking a polish, and is obtainable in large
pieces. It is broken at various points of the coast from Merlera near
Pola to the island of Lesina off the coast by Spalato, and was largely
used in the buildings of Venice, and generally in north-eastern Italy.
A considerable amount has been recently employed in the monumental
buildings of the Ring at Vienna. See L on the Frontispiece.

Footnote 93:

‘The Doric edifice of the Panattiera’ sounds a very curious
description of Sansovino’s famous and magnificent Library of S. Marco,
the finest late Renaissance building in Italy, but this seems to be
what Vasari had in his mind. Dr Robertson of Venice has been kind
enough to explain in a letter the history of the site which he has
ascertained from the archives. The ground where the Library now stands
was occupied up to 1537 by a government grain and bread store, the
‘Panattiera’ (or more properly ‘Panatteria’). The shops for the sale
of bread were then removed and grouped round the base of the
Campanile, where they were replaced a little later by Sansovino’s
Loggetta. Vasari visited Venice in 1542, and at that time if the shops
and store had themselves been removed their name would still cling to
the place and explain his words. We should hardly call the Library a
‘Doric edifice,’ as only the lower Order is ‘Doric,’ but we must
remember that it was only this lower Order that would be completed at
the date of Vasari’s visit.

Footnote 94:

The Tuscan Zecca. The original Zecca or mint was at the Rialto, and it
was afterwards transferred to the Piazzetta, where Sansovino in 1535
erected for it the present edifice, in the rusticated or Tuscan style.
The situation of it is between the Library and the quay. The façade
shows an arcaded lowest story in rusticated masonry, with two stories
above, one in the Doric the other in the Ionic Order, and the columns
in both cases are themselves rusticated; that is to say they have
projecting horizontal courses of stone that appear to mark them with a
series of bands or bars.

Footnote 95:

‘Macigno’ is a green grey sandstone of the lower tertiary formation in
Italy.

Footnote 96:

Pietra Serena is a very fine sedimentary sandstone, and Vasari does
not say too much in its praise. Baldinucci in his _Vocabolario_
repeats much of what Vasari has said, but mentions also a ‘pietra
bigia’ or grey stone, which lies outside the ‘serena,’ and is inferior
to it.

The quarries of pietra serena are abundant along the southern slopes
of Monte Ceceri, to the south east of Fiesole, overhanging Majano. The
blue colour Vasari ascribes to it is the cause of its name, the
epithet ‘sereno’ being specially applicable to the clear blue sky. See
G on the Frontispiece. Vasari’s account of the stones dealt with in §§
16, 17, is not very clear, as he returns to the epithet ‘serena’ at
the close of § 16 for a stone that he makes to differ essentially from
the ‘serena’ of the beginning of the section in that it is
weather-resisting. Cellini in his second Treatise, _Della Scultura_,
ed. Milanesi, 1893, p. 201, is clearer. He distinguishes three kinds,
(1) ‘pietra serena,’ azure in hue and only good for work in interiors;
(2) a stone of a brownish hue (tanè) that he calls ‘pietra morta.’ The
lexicographers fight shy of this term, but it seems to mean a stone
without any lime in it and therefore unchangeable by the action of
fire, while a limestone would be ‘pietra viva.’ See Cellini, loc.
cit., p. 187. This is suitable for figure carving, and it resists
‘wind and rain and all violence of the weather.’ It is evidently the
stone Vasari writes of as the material of Donatello’s ‘Dovizia.’ (3)
The third kind is the pietra forte, also brownish in hue, and useful
for decorative carvings on exteriors. Cellini notes as Vasari does
that it is only found in small pieces.

Footnote 97:

Pietra del fossato. Signor Cellerini, of the Opera del Duomo,
Florence, says that the name ‘pietra del fossataccio’ is still used
among practical stone workers. It is stone gained by excavation.

Footnote 98:

The colour of the stone in the Library and New Sacristy of S. Lorenzo
is a brownish grey rather than ‘bluish.’ It tells as warm in hue
against the white walls, which are of marble in the Sacristy and in
the Library of plaster.

Footnote 99:

Dr A. Gherardi, Director of the State Archives at Florence, has been
so kind as to make researches in the documents under his charge for
the purpose of discovering Vasari’s authority for this statement.
These investigations have so far however proved without result. Among
the ‘Leggi e Bandi’ of the sixteenth century in Tuscany collected by
Cantini in the first volume of his _Legislazione Toscana_ there are
various regulations about trades, prohibitions against cutting timber
on the hills, measures facilitating the import of building materials
into certain localities, and the like, which show that an edict such
as Vasari refers to was quite possible in the early days of the Grand
Ducal régime. The nearest approach to it that we have been able to
discover are certain edicts of the end of the sixteenth century,
published by Mariotti, _La Legislazione delle Belle Arti_, Roma, 1892,
p. 246 f., that prohibit the exportation from the state of ‘pietre
mischie dure’ (agates, jaspers, and the like) of which the Grand Duke
had need for a certain chapel he was building, evidently the ‘Cappella
dei Principi’ at S. Lorenzo.

Footnote 100:

This is of course the well known ‘Uffizi,’ erected by Vasari between
1560 and 1574 for the accommodation of various state departments. The
expression ‘strada’ or ‘street’ has reference to the scheme of the
building, which is erected along the two sides and one end of a very
elongated, and indeed street-like, court, from which the various
entrances into the building open. In documents relating to its
construction it is sometimes referred to as ‘Via dei Magistrati.’ A
little later Vasari gives an interesting note on the scheme of
construction he employed in the lower order of the edifice. See
postea, p. 72 f.

Footnote 101:

The Mercato Vecchio at Florence was an open square that occupied the
northern portion of the site now covered by the new Piazza Vittorio
Emmanuele. On the side next the Via Calimara a granite column was
erected in 1431, and on this column was set up the statue by Donatello
representing ‘Abundance’ (‘Dovizia’). This stood till October 20,
1721, when in consequence of damage due to time and exposure it fell
to the ground and was dashed into pieces. In the following year, 1722,
Giov. Batt. Foggini carved another figure representing the same
allegorical personage, and this remained till our own time; and may be
seen _in situ_ in one of Alinari’s photographs. It is now in the
museum of S. Marco with other fragments from the demolitions in the
‘Centro.’ See Guido Carocci, _Il Mercato Vecchio di Firenze_, Firenze,
1884.

Footnote 102:

On ‘Pietra Forte,’ the Official Catalogue of the Italian Section of
the International Exhibition of 1862 reports, p. 62, as follows. ‘The
rock called _Pietraforte_ ... is very largely used in Florence; it is
very durable, as may be seen in the older palaces of the city. In
composition it is an arenaceous limestone, which is very hard and
unalterable, as its name implies.’ It has been extensively quarried by
Fiesole and to the north of Majano, and Monte Ripaldi, above the
valley of the Ema to the south of Florence, furnishes large supplies
of it. See M, N, on the Frontispiece.

Footnote 103:

The blocks used for the façade of the Pitti have been remarked on for
their great size, one of them, an exceptional one it is true, measures
28 ft. in length.

Footnote 104:

On this use of the word ‘Goth’ or ‘Gothic’ in the sense of
‘mediaeval,’ see Note on ‘Vasari’s Opinion on Mediaeval Architecture,’
postea, p. 133 f.

Footnote 105:

Or San Michele, as every visitor to Florence knows, is the church
occupying the lower story of a lofty building in the Via Calzaiuoli.
Constructively speaking the upper part is supported on the ground
story by piers between which are round headed arches, three on the
north and south sides and two on the east and west. The heads of these
are in every case filled with florid late Gothic tracery with
intersecting arches and rich cusping, and on all sides but the west
the openings below the heads are walled in. On the west the arches
contain the doorways of entrance, and the tracery above the doors,
about which Vasari is writing, is richer than on the other sides of
the building. It is curious to find Vasari calling this work ‘truly
admirable,’ whereas a page or two later we shall find him inveighing
against the ‘Goths’ (the mediaeval builders) and all their works and
ways.

Footnote 106:

Coats of arms. These ‘stemmi,’ as they are often called, are very
familiar objects on the exterior of Tuscan palaces, and the arms of
the Medici, six round balls or pellets, are constantly in evidence. In
the view of the Fortress in Fig. 3 a ‘stemma’ of the Medici is to be
seen displayed on the face of the wall. It is referred to by Vasari,
_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, IV, 544. Mariotti, _La Legislazione delle Belle
Arti_, Roma, 1892, p. 245, has printed an interesting edict of the
year 1571, in Tuscany, designed to protect these memorials of the
ancient Florentine families. The memory of those who built the houses,
it says, ‘is preserved and perpetuated by their Arms, Insignia,
Titles, Inscriptions, which are affixed or painted or carved or
suspended over the doors, arches, windows, projecting angles or other
places where they are conspicuously to be seen,’ and the edict,
re-enacting older regulations, reminds the citizens that no one who
purchases or becomes possessed of an old house on which there are
insignia of the kind is allowed to remove or in any way deface them.
No new owner is to presume to add his own arms or other memorial by
the side of the old ones of the founder and constructor of the house.
Only in cases where these are absent may the new owner put up his own
insignia. This regulation shows a historical sense and a care for the
tangible memorials of a city’s past which have been too often lacking
in more modern times. No doubt it is due to its enforcement that so
many of these ‘stemmi’ are left to add interest to the somewhat
modernized streets of the Florence of to-day.

Footnote 107:

‘In the times of the Goths;’ ‘German work.’ See Note on ‘Vasari’s
Opinion on Mediaeval Architecture,’ postea, p. 133 f.

Footnote 108:

It will be seen that in this section Vasari combines two quite
distinct things, the so-called ‘Tuscan,’ or as he calls it, the
‘Rustic’ Order, and rusticated masonry, which has nothing to do with
the Orders of Architecture, but is a method of treating wall-surfaces.
On this see the Note on ‘Rusticated Masonry,’ postea, p. 132. The
reason why the ‘Tuscan’ is called the ‘Rustic’ Order, is that, being
the simplest and, so to say, rudest of the Orders, it is most suitably
employed in connection with walling of a rough and bossy appearance.
The shafts of columns are sometimes rusticated to correspond with the
walling, as at the Venetian ‘Zecca,’ mentioned ante, p. 56, but the
expedient is of doubtful advantage, as the clear upright appearance of
the column is thereby sacrificed.

Footnote 109:

Vasari says here that the ‘Rustic’ or Tuscan column is six ‘heads’
high. What does he mean by this? There is evidently in his mind the
familiar comparison of different columns to human figures of different
proportions, a conceit found in Vitruvius (IV, i, 6 f.) and in writers
of the Renaissance (see Alberti, _De Re Aedificatoria_, Lib. IX, c.
7), and so he measures by ‘heads,’ which would apply to a figure but
not to a column. ‘Testa,’ ‘head,’ cannot, as the context shows, mean
the height of the capital of the column. It really means here the
lower diameter of the column. It is this lower diameter (or sometimes
half the lower diameter) that is the normal unit of measurement for
the proportions of a column. Thus the height of the Tuscan column is
given by Vitruvius and by Palladio and other moderns as six times the
lower diameter. Though ‘head’ may seem a very curious word with which
to describe this, there is no doubt that such is the meaning of it.
Alberti, in his tract on the Orders and their proportions, uses the
lower diameter as his measure but applies to it this very term
‘testa.’ There is a certain letter from Vasari to Duke Cosimo that
deals with the measurements of a column of granite presented to him by
the Pope and afterwards conveyed from Rome and set up in the Piazza di
S. Trinità, where it carries the porphyry statue by Francesco del
Tadda (postea, p. 111). Vasari gives the diameter of the ‘head’ of
this column, but notes afterwards that the shaft diminishes from the
‘head’ upwards towards the necking (collarino). Hence there is no
doubt about the interpretation of the word in question. See the letter
in _Opere_, ed. Milanesi, VIII, 352.

Footnote 110:

The Citadel of Florence. This is not the ‘Belvedere’ fortress on the
hill behind the Palazzo Pitti, but the so-called ‘Fortezza da Basso’
to the north of the town, now used as barracks, which the railway
skirts just before entering the station near S. Maria Novella. It
dates from 1534, and was built by Alessandro dei Medici with the
intention of overawing the citizens. It occupied the site of the
Faenza gate, and was partly within and partly outside the enceinte of
the city. The ‘principal façade’ of which Vasari writes, is still well
preserved in the middle of the southern face, opposite the town, and a
sketch of it is shown in Fig. 3, but nothing else of interest is said
to remain from the Renaissance period.

The masonry of the façade is an excellent example of elaborate
rustication, and is very carefully executed in pietra forte. The
illustration, Fig. 4, bears out Vasari’s description, and exhibits in
alternation round bosses 18 in. in diameter and 4 in. in salience, and
oblong diamonds about 3 ft. by 1 ft. 6 in. There are worked borders
about 1 in. in width round all the lines of juncture, and the scheme
is worth noticing.

Footnote 111:

Vitruvius in his first book (I, ii, 5) gives directions as to the
Orders suitable for temples to different deities. Thus Minerva, Mars,
and Hercules are to have temples in the Doric style, etc.; while in
the eighteenth century Sir William Chambers, transferring the same
idea to modern times, says that Doric ‘may be employed in the houses
of generals, or other martial men, in mausoleums erected to their
memory, or in triumphal bridges and arches built to celebrate their
victories.’ The modern architect is disposed to smile at these
restrictions, but there underlies them a sound appreciation of the
aesthetic significance of architectural forms.

Footnote 112:

The building referred to is the well-known Uffizi palace at Florence.
See ante, p. 59.

Footnote 113:

The construction described by Vasari is evidently of the kind
indicated in the accompanying drawing, Fig. 5. The pieces of the
frieze are joggled one into the other so as to form a flat arch, but
the construction is kept to the inner part and the face shows vertical
joints between the pieces. As this passage in Vasari seems to have
escaped the notice of those interested in Renaissance construction,
the existence of the device he describes has remained unsuspected and
nothing is known about it at the Uffizi itself. The fact is that
Vasari’s system has succeeded in one way too perfectly for his
purpose. Everything has remained ‘safe and sound,’ and no one of the
architrave beams shows signs of failure, so that no technical
examination of the fabric has been called for. On the other hand,
neither the artificers nor the world at large seem to have benefitted
by Vasari’s kindness, for the books do not notice his device. There is
no mention of it even in the huge work on Tuscan Renaissance
architecture now just completed under the editorship of Baron Henri de
Geymüller, nor in Raschdorff’s _Palast-Architectur_, nor Durm’s
_Baukunst der Renaissance_, though references to it may possibly occur
in older books that have escaped our notice. Joggled lintels forming
flat arches are of course common enough. The new Parliament Building
at Stockholm shows them conspicuously with the actual joints appearing
on the face of the building. Mediaeval and Renaissance fireplaces
often have lintels of the kind, as in Coningsburgh Castle, Yorks, and
Linlithgow Palace.

Footnote 114:

i.e. width on the soffit, or, as it might be expressed, in depth from
the outer face inwards.

Footnote 115:

‘Sopra la colonna.’ This does not mean strictly the piece vertically
above the column, which is the die (dado quadro) already mentioned. It
is equivalent to the expression just below ‘sopra le colonne,’ and
means simply ‘in the upper part.’ The piece referred to is A, A, in
Fig. 5, the ‘pezzo del mezzo’ of the text as quoted below.

Footnote 116:

‘Cosi si faccia sopra la colonna, che il pezzo del mezzo di detto
fregio stringa di dentro, e sia intaccato a quartabuono infino a
mezzo; l’altra mezza sia squadrata e diritta e messa a cassetta,
perchè stringa a uso d’arco mostrando di fuori essere murata diritta.’
The sense of this sentence seems to be indicated by the drawing Fig.
5. The centre pieces A, A, will slip down into their places and in a
fashion key the flat arch. There is the same construction in the
cornice, see below.

Footnote 117:

The dimension here implied is not the width on the face from right to
left, but the soffit-width, or depth from the outer face inwards. The
dies and the cornice-pieces are of the same soffit-width as the
architrave, but the frieze pieces are so much narrower as to allow
space behind them for a flat arch of brick abutting at each end on
that part of the die that exceeds in soffit-width the frieze. See
plan, Fig. 5 (4), and section, Fig. 5 (5). The plan is at the level x,
y.

Footnote 118:

‘Sopra il dado del fregio’ see note on ‘Sopra la colonna.’ The middle
piece which goes ‘a cassetta,’ i.e. spanning a void, is at the centre
of the intercolumniation, not vertically over the die above the
column.

Footnote 119:

Fig. 5 (4) and (5) show the nature of the construction across from the
façade inwards. The corridor is spanned with a barrel vault that
conceals the back of the entablature. It starts from the top of the
architrave.

Footnote 120:

For this use of iron ties, which Vasari regards here as normal, see
the illustration on p. 25 of Professor Durm’s _Baukunst der
Renaissance in Italien_, in the _Handbuch der Architectur_, Stuttgart,
1903.

Footnote 121:

The expression is a little awkward, but the meaning evidently is that
the pedestal is half as high again as it is wide. There is some doubt
whether the clause ‘then above are placed’ to ‘as Vitruvius directs’
refers to the pedestal or the column itself. In the case of all the
other Orders Vasari mentions the upper and lower mouldings of the
pedestal, and it would be most natural to imagine him doing so here,
but the ‘torus and two fillets (bastone e due piani) as Vitruvius
directs’ sounds more like the ‘Attic’ base of the column, and the
reference to Vitruvius should be conclusive that it is _not_ the
pedestal of which there is question, for the good reason that
Vitruvius knows nothing of the pedestal under the single column of any
of the Orders. Such a feature does occur in classical work, as in the
temple at Assisi, but it is not a normal classical form, and
architectural purists in modern times reject it. Vitruvius is however
again referred to by Vasari in this connection, in § 25, and Giorgio
may have in his mind the sentence in Vitruvius, III, iv, 5, in which
there is a reference to the mouldings on the continuous podium that
serves as the substructure of the Roman temple, and forms one
difference between it and the Greek temple. The single pedestal was
often used in Renaissance work, and Vasari regards it as a matter of
course.

Footnote 122:

The metopes; these are always set back a little behind the face of the
triglyphs, which are here termed the projections. The metope offers a
suitable field for carved ornaments.

Footnote 123:

Vasari merely has in mind the familiar difference in form between the
Doric and Ionic flutes, the former being much shallower than the
latter, and not showing the plain strip or fillet which in the Ionic
column comes between every two of the flutes.

Footnote 124:

The reference probably is to the portion of the ancient Basilica
Aemilia, which in Vasari’s time still stood erect where recent
excavations have revealed the plan and part of the architectural
members of this famous structure. We must bear in mind that what
Vasari and his contemporaries called the ‘Forum Boarium’ was not the
part between the Capitol and the Palatine, near the ‘Bocca della
Verità’ which was the ancient Cattle Market and now has resumed its
antique name, but the Forum proper, which used even in the memory of
those now living to be called ‘Campo Vaccino.’ It seems to have
derived the name ‘Forum Boarium’ from this very fragment of the
Basilica Aemilia which Vasari has in his mind in this passage. The
fragment was figured by Giuliano da San Gallo in a drawing in the
Barberini Library, which is reproduced in _Monumenti dell’ Istituto_,
XII, T. 11, 12, and from this, by the kind permission of the Imperial
German Archaeological Institute, has been taken Fig. 6. The
destruction of this most interesting fragment, which stood over
against the arch of Septimius Severus, is one of the many almost
inconceivable acts of vandalism of which the men of the later
Renaissance period were guilty. The richness of which Vasari speaks
can be seen in the illustration.

Footnote 125:

Here again Renaissance and modern topographical nomenclature do not
agree. What Vasari knew as the ‘Tullianum’ was not the familiar
‘Carcer Mamertinus’ above the Forum on the way up to S. Maria in
Araceli, but certain antique structures under the church of S. Nicola
in Carcere, near the Piazza Montanara. These were the ‘favissae’ or
cells within the structure of the podium or platform of one of several
ancient Roman temples on this site, which was formerly the ‘Forum
Olitorium.’ These substructures are now accessible, and the worthy
sacristan of the church who shows them is still of opinion that he has
in charge the prison of the Tullianum. One of the travertine columns
of one of these temples is to be seen within the church, and this
though Doric is extremely simple, even rude, in its outline. Dr
Huelsen has however in a recent paper (_Mitteilungen d. k. deutschen
Archaeologischen Instituts_, XXI, 169 f.) shown that this column was
originally finished with stucco, in which somewhat elaborate mouldings
were worked. It was drawn by several of the Renaissance architects,
and Peruzzi notes it as being ‘in carcere Tulliano.’ Huelsen has drawn
out a scheme of the mouldings in profile and this is reproduced by
permission in Fig. 7. It will be seen that Vasari’s remark about its
richness in membering is quite justified.

Footnote 126:

Vasari probably refers to the great Corinthian column which was still
to be seen in his time in the interior of the Basilica of Constantine
(formerly called the Temple of Peace). The column was placed early in
the seventeenth century in the Piazza in front of S. Maria Maggiore,
where it is still in evidence.

Footnote 127:

‘Largo’ is the word in the text, but it must be merely a clerical
error for ‘alto.’

Footnote 128:

See Note 14, ante, p. 75.

Footnote 129:

See Note 86, ante, p. 53.

Footnote 130:

On Michelangelo’s use of architectural details M. Garnier had some
rather severe remarks in the _Gazette des Beaux Arts_ for Jan. 1,
1876. He denied to him an understanding of the grammar of the use of
such forms. It is generally admitted that for the details of the
Farnese cornice, the fittings and decoration of the Library of S.
Lorenzo, and other such works to which his name attaches, he was
indebted to professional architects, such as Vignola, whom he
employed. We must never forget however that we owe to Michelangelo the
dome of St. Peter’s, one of the greatest architectural creations of
its kind in the world. In mentioning the ‘siti storti’ (sites that
were irregular or out of the straight), Vasari probably had in view
the design for laying out the Capitol, which is another of
Michelangelo’s acknowledged successes. Here the existing Palazzo dei
Conservatori stood somewhat askew and the site was regularized to
correspond with the line of its façade. All this about Michelangelo
was added for the second edition, after Vasari had himself worked at
his master’s staircase at S. Lorenzo.

Footnote 131:

See Note on ‘Vasari’s Opinion on Mediaeval Architecture’ at the close
of the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, postea, p. 133 f. The phrase
‘this manner was the invention of the Goths,’ etc., is historically
important as the first introduction into literature of the familiar
architectural term ‘Gothic.’

Footnote 132:

Vasari makes no provision for binding together the vault in stucco and
that in brick. Each is apparently independent of the other, though
they are in contact, and no keys are formed in the upper surface of
the stucco for the purpose of tieing it to the brickwork above.

Footnote 133:

This same subject is treated in the sixth chapter of the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture and the thirteenth of that to Painting. In
connection with it see Note on ‘Stucco Grotesques’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Painting, postea, p. 299.

Footnote 134:

The ‘Tuscan work’ referred to here is the same thing as the ‘lavoro
chiamato rustico’ of which Vasari writes at the beginning of the third
chapter (§ 20). The so-called Tuscan Order was the simplest and
heaviest of all, and so most suited for work that partook of the rough
and unpolished character of natural rock. For the same reason, as was
seen above, ante, p. 65, the Tuscan Order lends itself best to
association with bossy or ‘rusticated’ masonry.

Footnote 135:

Piè di Lupo. This is clearly a mistake for Piè di Lugo, for at the
lake of that name above the great Cascade of Terni, there are
appearances corresponding exactly with what Vasari says. It is
remarked in Hare’s _Days near Rome_, II, p. 141, that the waters of
the Vellino, which makes the fall, are ‘so strongly impregnated with
carbonate of lime, that they constantly tend to form a deposit of
travertine, and so to block up their own channel.’

Footnote 136:

The Elsa flows from the Apennines by Colle and Castelfiorentino to
join the Arno by S. Miniato, halfway between Florence and Pisa. The
valley was the birthplace of Cennino Cennini, the author of the
_Trattato_.

Footnote 137:

Monte Morello, 3065 ft., is the conspicuous height to the north of
Florence, which serves the populace for a weather-glass.

‘Quando Monte Morello
Ha il cappello
Prendi l’ombrello.’

Footnote 138:

A few miles to the north west of Florence.

Footnote 139:

These fanciful conceits have a significance for the history of
ornament which they hardly seem to deserve. Artificial grottoes of the
kind Vasari describes were very popular in the France of the
eighteenth century, and pleased the taste of the sophisticated society
of the time with an artificial ‘nature,’ that corresponded to the
affected pastoral style in literature. From the shell and stalactite
decoration of these grottoes was evolved the ornamental style
characteristic of the age of Louis XV, the shell-like forms of which
betray its origin. The name commonly given to this ornament, that
consists in little but a graceful play of curved forms, is ‘rococo,’
and this word is connected with ‘rocaille,’ a regular French term for
fantastic grotto-work of the kind here under notice.

Footnote 140:

The well-known ‘Villa Madama.’

Footnote 141:

One of the best existing examples of these ‘rustic’ grottoes and
fountains is that constructed by Buontalenti in the Boboli Gardens
near the eastern entrance. As part of its decoration there are built
in four marble figures, supposed to have been sketched out by
Michelangelo for the tomb of Julius. A view of the interior of this
grotto is given on Plate IV. The statue in the corner is one of the
four noticed above, while a little above it and to the left is one of
the grotesque figures incrusted with odds and ends, which Vasari
praises as so fascinating.

Footnote 142:

The ultimate derivation of the word ‘mosaic’ is a difficult problem.
Its immediate parent is the late-Latin ‘musivum’ which is generally
connected with the Greek μουσεῖον, meaning a ‘place of the Muses.’
With this significance, the Greek word in its Latinized form ‘museum’
is suitably applied to collections of works of art and similar objects
of aesthetic interest and value. A ‘place of the Muses’ may however be
of a different kind. The Muses, like other nymphs, were worshipped in
grottoes as guardian genii of fountains, and Pliny, _Hist. Nat._,
XXXVI, 21, writes of ‘erosa saxa in aedificiis, quae musaea vocant,
dependentia ad imaginem specus arte reddendam,’ where the suggestion
is of a rustic grotto like that in the Boboli Gardens. Such grottoes,
natural or artificial, might fittingly be decked with shells and
coloured stones and any bright inlay that offered itself. If
incrustations of the kind we call mosaic were actually met with in
these haunts of the Muses, the work might readily be called by a name
suggestive of these same nymphs, and this might be applied later on to
tesselated work in general. There is however no proof, either in Pliny
or elsewhere, that what we call mosaic was actually so used, and it
has been questioned by more than one authority whether there is really
any connection between the word ‘mosaic,’ in its various forms, and
the Muses. An oriental derivation has even been suggested for the
term.

Dr Albert Ilg, in an exceedingly learned paper on the subject in the
_Wiener Quellenschriften_, Neue Folge, V, 158 f., offered an entirely
new explanation of the word ‘mosaic,’ which he maintained had in its
original sense nothing to do with inlaid work at all, but rather with
gilding. He connected it with a root ‘mus’ or ‘mos,’ with a sense of
‘beating’ or ‘grinding,’ and instanced the mediaeval Latin term
‘mosnerium,’ which Ducange notices as equivalent to ‘molendinum,’
‘mill.’ ‘Musivum opus’ would refer on this view to the gilding process
in which the gold is ground to powder or beaten out; and Ilg affirmed
‘Musaicum im alten Sinne kann nur eigentlich Vergoldung, nicht das
moderne Mosaik, bezeichnen.’ If the word at first meant ‘gilded work’
it would later on be extended to what we know as ‘mosaic,’ because of
the use in mediaeval mosaics of the familiar gold background. The
argument of Dr Ilg is not convincing, and the question must be
considered still open. Theophilus, for example, Lib. II, c. 12, uses
‘musivum opus’ for inlaid work in which there is no question of gold.

Footnote 143:

Possibly what we call ‘mother of pearl.’

Footnote 144:

See Note on ‘The Sassi, della Valle, and other Collections,’ etc.,
postea, p. 102 f. The mosaic here noticed is unfortunately lost.
Lanciani, _The Golden Days of the Renaissance in Rome_, 1906, p. 234,
states that he has searched for it in vain.

Footnote 145:

See Note 5, ante, p. 27.

Footnote 146:

Mosaics made up of small cubes of coloured or gilded glass are
abundant in early Christian and Byzantine times, but were also used,
though sparingly, by the Romans from the time of Augustus downwards.
See Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XXXVI, 189, who fixes the time of their
introduction.

Footnote 147:

Egg-shell mosaic. See Note, postea, p. 136.

Footnote 148:

See Chapters XV and XVI of the ‘Introduction’ to Painting. The
pavement of the cathedral of Siena exhibits a large collection of such
mosaics in black and white executed in different technical processes.

Footnote 149:

See Note on ‘Ideal Architecture’ at the close of the ‘Introduction’ to
Architecture, postea, p. 138.

Footnote 150:

That is, about 4½ inches.

Footnote 151:

About 15½ inches.

Footnote 152:

See note on ‘The Nature of Sculpture,’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture, postea, p. 179.

Footnote 153:

‘Working from manner.’ Vasari refers here to what artists call
‘treatment,’ which is a process of analysis and grouping, applied to
appearances in nature where the eye sees at first little more than a
confused medley of similar forms that are perhaps constantly changing.
Under such an aspect the hair as well as the folds of drapery on the
human figure presented themselves to the early Greek sculptor, and it
was a long time before he learned to handle them aright. In the case
of the hair he had no help in previous work, for in Egyptian statues
it is often covered, or is replaced by a formal wig, and in Assyrian
art the hair is very severely though finely conventionalized. It was
not until the age of Pheidias that the Greeks learned how to suggest
the soft and ample masses of the hair, and at the same time to
subdivide these into the distinct curls or tresses, each one ‘solid,’
as Vasari requires, but individually rendered with the minuter
markings which suggest the structure and ‘feel’ of the material. The
Italians started of course with this treatment or ‘manner’ already an
established tradition founded on antique practice. In the mediaeval
sculpture of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in France and
England the hair is often very artistically rendered.

Footnote 154:

This paragraph opens up a subject of much artistic interest, on which
see Note on ‘Sculpture Treated for Position,’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture, postea, p. 180 f.

Footnote 155:

For Vasari, a practical artist, to commit himself to the statement
that figures are made nine heads high, is somewhat extraordinary, for
eight heads, the proportion given by Vitruvius (III, 1) is the extreme
limit for a normal adult, and very few Greek statues, let alone living
persons, have heads so small. The recently discovered ‘Agias’ by
Lysippus, at Delphi, is very nearly eight heads high. The ‘Doryphorus’
at Naples not much more than seven. The ‘Choisseul Gouffier Apollo’
about seven and a half, etc. Vasari seems to have derived his curious
mode of reckoning from Filarete, who in Book 1 of his Treatise on
Architecture measures a man as follows: Head = 1 head, neck = ½,
breast = 1, body = 2, thighs = 2, legs = 2, foot = ½, total nine
heads. Alberti, Leonardo, Albrecht Dürer, and indeed almost all the
older writers on art, discourse on the proportions of the human
figure.

Footnote 156:

See Note on ‘Waxen Effigies and Medallions,’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture, postea, p. 188.

Footnote 157:

One objection to an armature of wood is that the material may swell
with the damp of the clay and cause fissures. Iron is objectionable
because the rust discolours the clay. Modern sculptors often use
gas-piping in the skeletons of their models, as this is flexible and
will neither rust nor swell.

Footnote 158:

Baked flour used to be employed by plasterers to keep the plaster they
were modelling from setting too rapidly. See the Introduction by G. F.
Robinson to Millar’s _Plastering Plain and Decorative_, London, 1897.
The former used rye dough with good effect for the above purpose.

Footnote 159:

The tow or hay tied round the wood affords a good hold for the clay,
which is apt to slip on anything smooth.

Footnote 160:

This method of producing drapery is not very artistic.

Footnote 161:

See Note on ‘Proportionate Enlargement’ at close of the ‘Introduction’
to Sculpture, postea, p. 190.

Footnote 162:

See Note on ‘The Use of Full-sized Models’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture, postea, p. 192.

Footnote 163:

The carvers’ tools described by Vasari are the same that appear to
have been in use in ancient Greece (see the article by Professor E.
Gardner already referred to), that are figured in the _Encyclopédie_
of the eighteenth century, and are now in use. Fig. 2, E to J, ante,
p. 48, shows a set of them actually employed in a stone carver’s
workshop at Settignano near Florence.

Footnote 164:

Actual polish of the surface of a marble figure is to be avoided, as
the reflections from it where it catches the light destroy the
delicacy of the effect of light and shade. Greek marbles were not
polished, save in some cases where the aim seems to have been to
imitate the appearance of shining bronze, but the Greeks finished
their marbles more smoothly than the sculptors of to-day, most of whom
prefer a ‘sensitive’ surface on which the marks of the last delicate
chiselling can be discerned. Michelangelo’s Dead Christ in the ‘Pietà’
of St. Peter’s, his most finished piece of marble work, may almost be
said to show polish, and Renaissance marbles generally are quite as
smoothly finished as antiques. In the case of coloured marbles, used
for surface decoration in plain panels, polish is of course necessary
in order that the colour and veining may appear, but it does not
follow from this that a self-coloured marble, carved into the
similitude of a face or figure, should be polished.

Footnote 165:

English terminology for the different kinds of reliefs, and for
sculpture generally, is very deficient, and many Italian terms are
employed. It may be noted that Vasari’s ‘half relief’ (mezzo rilievo)
is the highest kind he mentions, and would correspond to what is
called in English ‘high relief.’

Footnote 166:

See Note on ‘Italian and Greek Reliefs,’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture, postea, p. 196.

Footnote 167:

Donatello’s flat, or ‘stiacciati’ reliefs are deservedly famous. The
difficulty here is to convey the impression of solid form of three
dimensions with the slightest possible actual salience. The treatment
of the torso of the Christ in the marble ‘Pietà’ of the Victoria and
Albert Museum is a good example.

Footnote 168:

The antique vessels of so-called ‘Arezzo’ ware are called Aretine
vases. Messer Giorgio was in duty bound to take some note of the
ancient pottery of his native city for it was from this that the
Vasari derived their family name. According to the family tree given
in a note to the Life of an ancestor of the historian (_Opere_, ed.
Milanesi, II, 561), the family came from Cortona, and the first who
settled in Arezzo was the historian’s great-grandfather, one Lazzaro,
an artist in ornamental saddlery. He had a son, Giorgio, who practised
the craft of the potter, and was especially concerned with the old
Roman Aretine vases the technique of which he tried to reproduce.
Hence he was called ‘Vasajo,’ ‘the vase maker,’ from which came the
family appellation Vasari.

This ancient Aretine ware ‘must be regarded as the Roman pottery par
excellence’ (Waters, _History of Ancient Pottery_, Lond., 1905, II,
480). It is practically the same ware that is known by the popular but
unscientific term ‘Samian,’ and consists in cups and bowls and dishes
usually of a small size of a fine red clay, ornamented with designs in
low relief, produced by the aid of stamps or moulds. It is these
relief ornaments that Vasari had in his mind when he wrote the words
in the text. Arezzo is noticed by Pliny and other ancient writers as a
great centre for the fabrication of this sort of ware, and Vasari
tells us how his grandfather, Giorgio the ‘vasajo,’ discovered near
the city some kilns of the ancient potters and specimens of their
work. Very good specimens of Aretine ware are to be seen in the Museum
at Arezzo, and the fabrique is represented in all important
collections of ancient pottery.

Footnote 169:

See Note on ‘The Processes of the Bronze Founder’ at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Sculpture, postea, p. 199, which the reader who is
unacquainted with the subject, will find it useful to read forthwith.
The best commentary on Vasari’s and Cellini’s account of bronze
casting is to be found in the French _Encyclopédie_, where there is a
description, with numerous illustrations, of the casting in 1699 of
Girardon’s great equestrian statue of Louis XIV, destined for the
Place Vendôme. It was claimed at the time to be the largest known
single casting in the world, and represents in their utmost
elaboration the various processes described by Vasari. Some of the
illustrations are here reproduced, and will help to render clearer the
descriptions in the text.

Footnote 170:

Plate VII shows a section or two of a piece-mould round a portion of a
figure. It will be noticed that the pieces are so planned that they
will all come away easily from the model and not be held by any
undercut projections. The small pieces are then all enclosed in an
outer shell divided into two halves, and called in French ‘chape’
answering to the ‘cappa’ of Vasari’s text. Plate VIII, A, shows the
model of the Louis XIV statue as piece-moulded.

Footnote 171:

In the case of a heavy casting such an armature is necessary, and must
be carefully constructed to give support at all points. The armature
within the core of the horse of Louis XIV is shown in Plate VIII, D.

Footnote 172:

Vasari here describes a method of constructing the indispensable shell
of wax which is to be replaced by the bronze. The hollow piece-mould
is lined section by section with wax and a core is then formed to fill
the rest of the interior and touch the inner surface of the wax at
every point. The plaster mould is then removed and the wax linings of
each of its sections are applied, each in its proper place, to the
core, and fixed thereon by skewers. There is then a complete figure in
wax, but, as this is made up of very many pieces, it has to be gone
over carefully to smooth over the joins and secure unity of surface.
Cellini’s plan seems a better one. He lines his hollow mould with a
sort of paste or dough, and then fills up with the core. The dough is
then removed and wax is poured in in its place, thus forming a
continuous skin and securing a more perfect unity in the waxen shell.

Footnote 173:

On Plate VIII at B we see the core covered with the skin of wax and
carefully gone over and finished in every part. The system of pipes
with which it is covered are the ‘vents’ that Vasari notices in § 62,
and also the channels through which the melted wax is to escape and
the molten bronze to enter, as noticed in §§ 63, 64.

Footnote 174:

Vasari actually says that it must be put ‘al fuoco’ ‘to the fire,’ but
it is clear that he does not mean that heat is at once to be applied
to it. If this were done the wax would all be melted off the core too
soon, before it was covered by the outer skin. It is only when the wax
has been securely enclosed between the core and the outer skin that
heat is needed to melt it away and leave its place free for the molten
metal.

Footnote 175:

Plate VIII, C, shows this outer armature, with the ends of the
transverse rods holding core and envelope together.

Footnote 176:

‘Give passage to the metal.’ Their essential purpose is to allow for
the escape of air which would be dangerous if driven by the metal into
a confined space.

Footnote 177:

It should be understood that, in the process Vasari has in mind, the
melted metal is introduced at the _bottom_ of the mould so as to rise
in it and expel before it the air. It is not poured in at the top.
Hence the metal enters at the same orifice at which the wax flows out.

Footnote 178:

Plate VIII, D, gives a section through the model in the casting-pit,
when all is ready for the actual operation of introducing the molten
metal. The wax has all been run out, and the outline of the figure and
of the horse is marked by a double line with a narrow space between.
It is this space that will be filled by the bronze which will be
introduced through numerous channels so that it may be distributed
rapidly and evenly over the whole surface it is to cover. When in the
pit the mould is packed all round with broken bricks or similar
material, so that ‘the bronze may not strain it,’ nor cause it to
shift.

Footnote 179:

The wax has already been carefully weighed, and in order to estimate
how much bronze will be required for the cast a rough calculation is
made based on the amount of wax.

Footnote 180:

The subject of the composition of bronze and of other alloys of copper
is a complicated one, for the mixtures specified or established by
analysis are very varied. Normally speaking, bronze is a mixture of
copper with about ten per cent. of tin, brass of copper with twenty to
forty per cent. of zinc. Vasari’s proportions for bells and for cannon
are pretty much what are given now. In the _Manuel de Fondeur_
(Manuels Roret) Paris, 1879, II, p. 94, eight to fifteen per cent. of
tin are prescribed for cannon, fifteen to thirty per cent. for bell
metal, the greater percentage of tin with the copper resulting in a
less tough but harder and so sharper sounding metal. It will be noted
however that for statuary metal Vasari specifies a mixture not of
copper and tin but of copper and brass, that is, copper and zinc.
Brass is composed of, say, twenty-five per cent. of zinc and
seventy-five per cent. of copper, so that a mixture of two thirds, or
sixty-six per cent., of copper with one third, or thirty-three per
cent., of brass would work out to about ten parts of zinc to ninety of
copper, and this agrees with classical proportions. The Greeks used
tin for their bronzes, but various mysterious ingredients were
supposed to be mingled in to produce special alloys. The Romans used
zinc, or rather zinciferous ores such as calamine, with or in place of
tin, and this is the tradition that Vasari follows.

A recent analysis of the composition of the bronze doors at
Hildesheim, dating from 1015 A.D., gives about seventy-six parts
copper, ten lead, eight tin, four zinc; and of the ‘Bernward’ pillar
ascribed to about the same date, seventy copper, twenty-three tin, and
five lead. These differences may surprise us, but metal casting in
those days was a matter of rule of thumb, and we may recall Cellini’s
account of his cramming all his household vessels of pewter into the
melting pot to make the metal flow for casting his ‘Perseus.’

Footnote 181:

Vasari’s account of the making of dies for medals and of the process
of striking these is clear, and agrees with the more elaborate
directions contained in the seventh and following chapters of
Cellini’s _Trattato dell’ Oreficeria_. Cellini however, unlike Vasari,
was a practical medallist, and he goes more into detail. The process
employed was not the direct cutting of the matrices or dies with
chisels, nor, as gems are engraved, by the use of the wheel and emery
(or diamond) powder, but the stamping into them of the design required
by main force, by means of specially shaped hard steel punches on
which different parts of the design had been worked in relief. The
steel of the matrix or die had of course to be previously softened in
the fire, or these punches would have made no impression on it. When
finished it was again hardened by tempering. It may be noticed that
the dies from which Greek coins were struck were to all appearance
engraved as gems were engraved by the direct use of cutting tools or
tools that, like the wheel, wore away the material with the aid of
sand or emery.

The two matrices, or dies, for the obverse and reverse of the medal,
being now prepared, the medal is not immediately struck. In the case
of the Greek coin a bean-shaped piece, or a disk, of plain metal,
usually of silver, called a ‘blank’ or ‘flan,’ was placed between the
two dies and pressed into their hollows by a blow or blows of the
hammer, so that all that was engraved on them in intaglio came out on
the silver in relief. Vasari’s process is more elaborate. A sort of
trial medal is first struck from the matrices in a soft material such
as lead or wax, and this trial medal is reproduced by the ordinary
process of casting in the gold or silver or bronze which is to be the
material of the final medal. This cast medal has of course the general
form required, but it is not sharp nor has it a fine surface. It is
therefore placed between the matrices and forcibly compressed so as to
acquire all the finish of detail and texture desired.

Footnote 182:

Plaster, or stucco, is sometimes regarded as an inferior material only
to be used when nothing better can be obtained. It should not however
be judged from the achievements of the domestic plasterer of to-day,
who has to trust sometimes to the wall-paper to keep his stuff from
crumbling away. Plaster as used by the ancients, and through a good
part of the mediaeval and Renaissance periods up to the eighteenth
century, is a fine material, susceptible of very varied and effective
artistic treatment. It was made by the Greeks of so exquisite a
quality that it was equivalent to an artificial marble. It could be
polished, so Vitruvius tells us, till it would reflect the beholder’s
face as in a mirror, and he describes how the Roman connoisseurs of
his time would actually cut out plain panels of Greek stucco from old
walls and frame them into the plaster work of their own rooms, just as
if they were slabs of precious marble. (_De Architectura_, VII, iii,
10.) Vitruvius prescribes no fewer than six successive coats of
plaster for a wall, each laid on before the last is dry, the last coat
being of white lime and finely powdered marble.

By the Villa Farnesina at Rome some Roman, or more probably Greek,
plaster decoration was discovered a few years ago that surpassed any
work of the kind elsewhere known. We find there the moulded or stamped
ornament Vasari describes, as well as figure compositions modelled by
hand, while the plain surfaces are in themselves a delight to the
artistic eye.

Among the best and best known stucco work, in figures and ornaments,
of the later Italian Renaissance, may be ranked that at Fontainebleau
by Primaticcio and other artists from the peninsula who were invited
thither by François I, for the decoration of the ‘Galerie François I’
and the ‘Escalier du Roi.’

Footnote 183:

The composition of these two mucilages is given by Theophilus, in the
_Schedula_, Book one, chapter 17, and also by Cennini, _Trattato_,
chapters 110–112.

Soft cheese from cows’ milk must, according to the earlier recipe, be
shredded finely into hot water and braised in a mortar to a paste. It
must then be immersed in cold water till it hardens, and then rubbed
till it is quite smooth on a board and afterwards mixed with quick
lime to the consistency of a stiff paste. Panels cemented with this,
says Theophilus, will be held so fast when they are dry that neither
moisture nor heat will bring them apart. Vasari does not seem to have
such faith in the mucilage, and prefers that made from boiling down
shreds of parchment and other skins. The twelfth century writer knows
how to make this also. See chapter eighteen of the first Book of the
_Schedula_.

Footnote 184:

Every museum contains examples of these delicate German carvings in
hard materials.

Footnote 185:

In a Note to the ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, ante, p. 128 f., an
account was given of some sculptures in travertine on the façade of
the church of S. Luigi dei Francesi at Rome by a ‘Maestro Gian’ who
has been conjecturally identified as a certain Jean Chavier or
Chavenier of Rouen who worked at Rome in the first quarter of the
sixteenth century. Vasari in this place introduces an artist of the
name of ‘Maestro Janni francese,’ and the question at once arises
whether he is the same person as the ‘Maestro Gian’ of Rome.

The statue here described is to be seen in the church of the
Annunziata at Florence, but not where Vasari saw it. It has been
placed for about the last half century in the spacious round choir,
where it occupies a niche in the wall of the second chapel to the left
as one faces the high altar. It has been painted white in the hope
that it may be mistaken for marble, and this characteristic
performance dates from about 1857. Certain fissures observable show
however that it is of wood, and one of the Frati remembers it when it
was as Vasari saw it ‘nello stesso colore del legname.’ The work is
shown on Plate IX. We have been unable to discover anything certain
about the artist. The figure, which is in excellent preservation,
speaks for itself. The Saint has a tight fitting cap over his head and
curling hair and beard. His eyes are almost closed as he looks down
with a somewhat affected air at his wounded leg to which the finger of
his right hand is pointing. The other hand holds a staff, round which
the drapery curls and over the top of which it is caught. This drapery
bears out Vasari’s description of it as ‘traforato’ ‘cut into.’ It is
floridly treated with the sharp angles common in the carving of the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in Germany, Flanders, and parts of
France. M. Marcel Reymond, who has kindly given his opinion on the
photographs submitted to him, has written about it as follows: ‘Le St.
Roch, par la surcharge de vêtements, l’excès de reliefs, l’agitation
des draperies, se rattache à l’art français tel qu’il s’était
constitué au xiv^{me} siècle, et tel qu’il s’était continué jusqu’au
xvi^{me} siècle, notamment dans le Bourgogne et la Champagne.’ He does
not consider the two ‘Maîtres Jean’ the same person. ‘Ce sont sans
doute deux artistes du xvi^{me} siècle, l’un travaillant la pierre, le
travertin, l’autre travaillant le bois. C’est leur aptitude à
travailler ces deux matières, que les artistes italiens travaillaient
moins bien que les français qui a retenu l’attention de Vasari sur eux
et qui leur a fait attribuer une place si importante dans les préfaces
de Vasari.’ Our study of the originals at Rome and Florence has led us
to the same opinion. The S. Rocco is Gothic in feeling, the
‘Salamander’ and other pieces at Rome are Renaissance. The Roman
‘Maestro Gian’ may be credited with an Italian style, but Vasari does
not show much critical acumen when he sees ‘la maniera italiana’ in
the S. Rocco of the Florentine Janni.

Footnote 186:

The first two sections, §§ 74, 75, of this chapter were added by
Vasari in the second edition. They contain his contribution to the
philosophy of the graphic art. It will be noted that his word
‘Disegno’ corresponds alike to our more general word ‘design’ and the
more special term ‘drawing.’

Footnote 187:

This remark of Vasari is significant of the change in architectural
practice between the mediaeval and modern epochs. That the architect
is a man that sits at home and makes drawings, while practical
craftsmen carry them out, is to us a familiar idea, but the notion
would greatly have astonished the builders of the French Gothic
cathedrals or the Florentines of the fourteenth century. In mediaeval
practice the architect was the master of the work, carrying the scheme
of the whole in his head, but busy all the time with the actual
materials and tools, and directing progress rather from the
scaffolding than from the drawing office. On the tombstone of the
French architect of the thirteenth century, Hughes Libergier, at
Reims, he is shown with the mason’s square, rule, and compasses about
him; while in the relief that illustrates ‘Building’ on Giotto’s
Campanile at Florence we see the master mason directing the operations
of the journeymen from a position on the structure itself. In the
present day there is a strong feeling in the profession that this
separation of architect and craftsman, which dates from the later
Renaissance, is a bad thing for art, and that the designer should be
in more intimate touch with the materials and processes of building.

Footnote 188:

It is characteristically Florentine to regard painting as essentially
the filling up of outlines, and to colour in staccato fashion with an
assorted set of tints arranged in gradation. To the eye of the born
painter outlines do not exist and nature is seen in tone and colour,
while colours are like the tones of a violin infinite in gradation,
not distinct like the notes of a piano. With the exception of the
Venetians and some other North Italians such as Correggio and Lotto,
the Italians generally painted by filling outlines with local tints
graded as light, middle, and dark, and the Florentines were
pre-eminent in the emphasis they laid on the well-drawn outline as the
foundation of the art. Since the seventeenth century the general idea
of what constitutes the art of painting has suffered a change and
Vasari’s account of Florentine practice, in which he was himself an
expert, is all the more interesting. Vasari’s point of view is that of
the frescoist. In that process, which, as we shall see, had to be
carried out swiftly and directly so as to be finished at one sitting,
it was practically necessary to have the various tints in their
gradations mixed and ready to hand. The whole method and genius of oil
painting, as moderns understand it, is different, and its processes
much more varied and subtle.

Footnote 189:

The innumerable sketches and finished drawings that have come down to
us from the hands of Florentine artists testify to the importance
given in the school to preliminary studies for painting, and any
collection will furnish examples of the different methods of execution
here described. Drawings by Venetian masters, who felt in colour
rather than in form, are not so numerous or so elaborate.

Footnote 190:

That is to say, by observation of aerial as well as linear
perspective.

Footnote 191:

This practice is noticed in the case of more than one artist of whom
Vasari has written the biography. Tintoretto is one. See also postea,
p. 216.

Footnote 192:

See the Note on ‘Fresco Painting’ at the close of the ‘Introduction’
to Painting, postea, p. 287.

Footnote 193:

Michelangelo’s greatest _tour de force_ in foreshortening, much lauded
by Vasari in his Life of the master, is the figure of the prophet
Jonah on the end wall of the Sistine chapel. It is painted at the
springing of the vault, on a surface that is inclined sharply towards
the spectator, but the figure is so drawn as to appear to be leaning
back in the opposite direction.

Footnote 194:

Correggio is responsible for many of the forced effects of drawing in
the decorative painting of vaults and ceilings in later times, but the
Umbrian Melozzo da Forlì in his painting of the Ascension of Christ,
now destroyed save for the fragments in the Quirinal and in the
sacristy of St. Peter’s at Rome, may have the doubtful honour of
beginning the practice of foreshortening a whole composition, so that
the scene is painted as it would appear were we looking up at it from
underneath.

Footnote 195:

This truth, about the mutual influence of colours in juxtaposition,
was well put by Sir Charles Eastlake when he wrote, in his _Materials
for a History of Oil Painting_, ‘flesh is never more glowing than when
opposed to blue, never more pearly than when compared with red, never
ruddier than in the neighbourhood of green, never fairer than when
contrasted with black, nor richer or deeper than when opposed to
white.’

Footnote 196:

Vitruvius describes the fresco process in his seventh Book. See Note
on ‘Fresco Painting’ at the end of the ‘Introduction’ to Painting,
postea, p. 287. This chapter is one of the most interesting in the
three ‘Introductions.’

Footnote 197:

Travertine, next to marble, makes when burnt the whitest lime (see §
30, ante, p. 86). From this lime the fresco white, called bianco
Sangiovanni, is made, and Cennini gives the recipe for its preparation
in his 58th chapter. The ordinary lead white (biacca) cannot be used
in fresco.

Footnote 198:

The word ‘tempera’ is used by Vasari and other writers as a noun
meaning (1) a substance mixed with another, as a medium with pigments
(2) a liquid in which hot steel is plunged to give it a particular
molecular quality (ante, p. 30) (3) the quality thus given to the
steel (ante, p. 32), while (4) it has come to mean in modern times, as
in the heading of this Note, a particular kind of painting. It is
really to be regarded as the imperative of the verb ‘temperare,’ which
alike in Latin and in Italian means ‘to divide or proportion duly,’
‘to qualify by mixing,’ and generally ‘to regulate’ or ‘to
discipline.’ ‘Tempera’ thus means strictly ‘mix’ or ‘regulate.’ It is
used in the latter sense in metallurgy, as the liquid which Vasari
calls (ante, p. 30) a ‘tempera’ (translated ‘tempering-bath’)
regulates the amount of hardness or elasticity required in the metal,
and the quality the steel thus receives is called (ante, p. 32) its
‘temper.’ In the case of painting the ‘tempera’ is the binding
material mixed with the pigment to secure its adhesion to the ground
when it is dry. The painting process is, in Italian, painting ‘a
tempera’ ‘with a mixture,’ and our expression ‘tempera painting’ is a
loose one. For the form of the word we may compare ‘recipe,’ also
employed as a substantive but really an imperative meaning ‘take.’

Strictly speaking any medium mixed with pigments makes the process one
‘a tempera.’ Many substances may be thus used, some soluble in water,
as size, gum, honey, and the like; others insoluble in water, such as
drying oils, varnishes, resins, etc., while the inside of an egg which
is in great part oleaginous may have a place between. It is not the
usage however to apply the term ‘tempera’ to drying oils or varnishes,
and a distinction is always made between ‘tempera painting’ and ‘oil
painting.’ See Note on ‘Tempera Painting,’ postea, p. 291.

Footnote 199:

This practice of covering wooden panels with linen and laying over
this the gesso painting ground was in use in ancient Egypt. In fact
the methods described by Cennini of preparing and grounding panels are
almost exactly the same as those used in ancient Egypt for painting
wooden mummy-cases. Even the practice, so much used in early Italian
art, of modelling details and ornaments in relief in gesso and gilding
them, is common on the mummy-cases. On the subject of gesso see Note 5
on p. 249.

Footnote 200:

Vasari’s expression ‘rosso dell’ uovo o tempera, la quale è questa’
calls attention to the fact, to which his language generally bears
testimony, that he looked upon the yolk of egg medium as the tempera
_par excellence_. When he uses the term ‘tempera’ alone he has the egg
medium in his mind, and the size medium is something apart. See this
chapter throughout.

Footnote 201:

Tempera painting has had a far longer history and more extensive use
than any other kind. The technique predominated for all kinds of
painting among the older Oriental peoples and in classical lands, and
was in use both on walls and on panels in Western Europe north of the
Alps during the whole mediaeval period, while south of the Alps and at
Byzantium it was to a great extent superseded for mural painting by
fresco, but remained in fashion for panels till the end of the
fifteenth century. After the fifteenth century the oil medium, as
Vasari remarks, superseded it entirely for portable pictures, and
partly for work on walls and ceilings, but in our own time there has
been a partial revival of the old technique. See Note on ‘Tempera
Painting,’ postea, p. 291.

The whole question of the different vehicles and methods used in
painting at various periods is a difficult and complicated one, and
too often chemical analysis fails to give satisfactory results owing
to the small amount of material available for experiment. Berger, in
his _Beiträge zur Entwicklungs-Geschichte der Maltechnik_, an
unfinished work that has already run to a thousand pages, goes
elaborately into the subject, but has to admit that many points are
still doubtful. It makes comparatively little difference what
particular medium is used in tempera painting, but it is of great
importance to decide whether a particular class of work is in tempera
or in fresco. In connection with this Berger has reopened the old
controversy as to the technique of Pompeian wall paintings, which have
been accepted as frescoes, on the authority of Otto Dönner, for a
generation past. There are difficulties about Pompeian work and it is
well that the question has again been raised, but Berger goes much too
far when he attempts to deny to the ancients the knowledge and use of
the fresco process. The evidence on this point of Vitruvius is quite
decisive, as he, and Pliny after him, refer to the process of painting
on wet plaster in the most unmistakeable terms. See Note on ‘Fresco
Painting, postea, p. 287.

Footnote 202:

This passage about the early painters of Flanders occurs just as it
stands, with some trifling verbal differences, in Vasari’s first
edition of 1550. The best commentary on it is, first, the account of
the same artists in Guicciardini’s _Descrittione di Tutti i Paesi
Bassi_, first published at Antwerp in 1567, and next, Vasari’s own
notes on divers Flemish artists which he added at the end of the
_Lives_ in the second edition of 1568 (_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, VII, 579
f.). He there made certain additions and corrections from
Guicciardini, the most noteworthy of which is the mention of Hubert
van Eyck, whom Vasari ignores in this passage of the Introduction, but
who is just referred to by Guicciardini at the end of his sentences on
the younger brother—‘A pari a pari di Giovanni andava Huberto suo
fratello, il quale viveva, e dipingeva continuamente sopra le medesime
opere, insieme con esso fratello.’ Vasari however in the notes of 1568
goes much farther than this, and, though he does not call Hubert the
elder brother, he seems to ascribe to him personally the supposed
‘invention’—‘Huberto suo fratello, che nel 1510 (_sic_) mise in luce
l’ invenzione e modo di colorire a olio’ (_Opere_, l.c.). ‘John of
Bruges’ is of course Jan van Eyck. Vasari writes of him at the end of
the _Lives_ as ‘John Eyck of Bruges.’ Vasari’s statement in this
sentence is of great historical importance, for it is the first
affirmation of a definite ‘invention’ of oil painting, and the first
ascription of this invention to van Eyck. As van Eyck’s own epitaph
makes no mention of this, and as oil painting was practised long
before his time, Vasari’s statement has naturally been questioned, and
on the subject the reader will find a Note at the close of the
‘Introduction’ to Painting, postea, p. 294.

Footnote 203:

It was long supposed that this picture was the ‘Epiphany’ preserved
behind the High Altar of the Church of S. Barbara, Naples, but Crowe
and Cavalcaselle, _History of Painting in North Italy_, II, 103,
pronounce this ‘a feeble and injured picture of the eighteenth
century.’

Footnote 204:

Frederick of Urbino (there were not two of the name as Vasari
supposes) seems to have had a bathroom decorated with secular
compositions by the Flemish master. Facio, whose tract _De Viris
Illustribus_, written in the middle of the fifteenth century, was
printed at Florence in 1745, writes, p. 46, of ‘Joannes Gallicus’ (who
can be identified as Jan van Eyck) who had painted certain ‘picturae
nobiles’ then in the possession of Cardinal Octavianus, with
‘representations of fair women only slightly veiled at the bath.’ Such
pictures were considered suitable decorations for bath chambers. There
is a curious early example of mediaeval date in the Schloss
Runkelstein near Botzen in the Tyrol, in the form of wall paintings
round a bathroom on one side of which nude figures are seen preparing
to enter the water, while on two other walls spectators of both sexes
are seen looking in through an open arcade. The pictures here referred
to by van Eyck are now lost, but by a curious coincidence attention
has just been directed to an existing copy of one of them, of which
Facio gives a special notice. The copy occurs in a painting by
Verhaecht of Antwerp, 1593–1637, that represents the picture gallery
of an Antwerp connoisseur at about the date 1615. There on the wall is
seen hanging the van Eyck, that corresponds closely to the full
description given by Facio. The painting by Verhaecht was shown at
Burlington House in the Winter Exhibition, 1906–7, and in the ‘Toison
d’Or’ Exhibition at Bruges in 1907. See also the _Burlington
Magazine_, February, 1907, p. 325. It may be added that the Cardinal
Octavianus mentioned above was a somewhat obscure prelate, who
received the purple from Gregory XII in 1408.

Footnote 205:

The latest editors of Vasari (_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, I, 184) think
this may be a picture in the Museum at Naples, ascribed there to an
apocryphal artist ‘Colantonio del Fiore.’ Von Wurzbach says it is by a
Neapolitan painter influenced by the Flemings.

Footnote 206:

Roger van der Weyden, more properly called, as by Guicciardini and by
Vasari in 1568, ‘Roger of Brussels.’ In 1449 he made a journey to
Italy, and stayed for a time at Ferrara, which under the rule of the
art-loving Este was very hospitable to foreign craftsmen. He was in
Rome in 1450 and may have visited Florence and other centres. His own
style in works subsequent to this journey shows little of Italian
influence.

Footnote 207:

Hans Memling. ‘No Flemish painter of note,’ remark Crowe and
Cavalcaselle, _Early Flemish Painters_, p. 256, ‘produced pictures
more attractive to the Italians than Memling.’ The Portinari, for whom
Memling worked, were Florentine merchants who had a house at Bruges,
the commercial connection of which with Tuscany was very close. In his
Notes on Flemish Painters at the end of the _Lives_, Vasari says that
the subject of ‘a small picture in the possession of the Duke’ which
is probably the one here mentioned, was ‘The Passion of Christ.’ If
this be the case, it cannot be the beautiful little Memling now in the
Uffizi, No. 703, for the subject of this is ‘The Virgin and Child.’ It
might possibly however be the panel of ‘The Seven Griefs,’ a Passion
picture in the Museum at Turin. On the other hand, Passavant thought
the Turin panel was the ‘Careggi’ picture that Vasari goes on to
mention. See Note on p. 268 of Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s work.

Footnote 208:

The German editors of Vasari identified Lodovico da Luano with the
well-known painter Dierich Bouts of Louvain, but the name Ludovico
(Chlodwig, ‘Warrior of Renown’) is not the same etymologically as
Dierich (Theodoric, ‘Prince of the People’). It is to be noted that in
Guicciardini we find a mention of ‘Dirich da Louano,’ who is
undoubtedly Dierich Bouts (the surname is derived from St. Rombout the
patron of Haarlem, where the painter, who is also called ‘Dirick van
Haarlem’ [see below], was born) and also a mention of Vasari’s
‘Ludovico da Luvano.’ A scrutiny however of the sentence in
Guicciardini, where the last-mentioned name occurs, shows that it is
copied almost verbatim from our text of Vasari. (Vasari
[1550]:—‘Similmente Lodovico da Luano & Pietro Christa, & maestro
Martino, & ancora Giusto da Guanto, che fece la tavola della comunione
de’l Duca d’ Vrbino, & altre pitture; & Vgo d’ Anuersa, che fe la
tauola di Sancta Maria Nuoua di Fiorenza’; Guicciardini:—‘Seguirono a
mano a mano Lodouico da Louano, Pietro Crista, Martino d’ Holanda, &
Giusto da Guanto, che fece quella nobil’ pittura della comunione al
Duca d’ Vrbino, & dietro a lui venne Vgo d’ Anuersa, che fece la
bellissima tauola, che si vede a Firenze in santa Maria nuoua’).
Vasari is accordingly responsible for this ‘Ludovico da Luano,’ whose
name is duly chronicled in von Wurzbach’s ‘_Niederländisches
Künstler-Lexicon_, Leipzig, 1906, II, p. 69, on the authority of
Guicciardini alone, and who is called in M. Ruelens’s annotations to
the French edition of Crowe and Cavalcaselle ‘Louys de Louvain
(peintre encore inconnu).’ Subsequently Guicciardini mentions also a
‘Dirich d’ Harlem,’ who can be none other than the same Dierick Bouts,
and Vasari, as a return favour, copies back all three Diericks into
his Notes at the end of the edition of 1568. The first ‘Ludovico’ may
be merely due to a mistake in the text of Vasari carelessly adopted by
Guicciardini. Vasari’s copyist may have written ‘Ludovico’ in place of
the somewhat similar ‘Teodorico.’ There was however a certain
Ludovicus Dalmau or Dalman (D’Alamagna?), a Flemish painter who worked
at Barcelona in Spain about 1445 (von Wurzbach, _sub voce_) who may be
meant, though there is no indication of a connection between him and
Louvain.

Footnote 209:

Pietro Crista is of course Petrus Christus or Christi of Bruges, an
imitator, though as Mr Weale has shown not an actual pupil, of the van
Eycks. Von Wurzbach says that Guicciardini was the first to mention
his name, but Vasari in 1550 already knows him. As an explanation of
the surname it has been suggested that the artist’s father may have
had a reputation as a painter or carver of Christ-figures, so that
Petrus would be called ‘son of the Christ-man.’

Footnote 210:

The name Martin belongs to painters of two generations in Ghent, and
von Wurzbach thinks it is the earlier of these, Jan Martins,
apparently a scholar of the van Eycks, who is referred to here, and
called by Guicciardini (see above), and by Vasari in 1568, ‘Martino d’
Holanda.’ There was a later and better known Martin of Ghent called
‘Nabor Martin.’ The more famous ‘Martins,’ ‘of Heemskerk,’ and
‘Schongauer,’ when referred to by Vasari, have more distinct
indications of their identity. See, e.g., _Opere_, V, 396.

Footnote 211:

Justus of Ghent worked at Urbino, where he finished the altar piece
referred to by Vasari in 1474. The ‘other pictures’ may be a series of
panels painted for the library at Urbino, on which Crowe and
Cavalcaselle have an interesting paragraph, _op. cit._ p. 180.

Footnote 212:

Hugo of Antwerp is Hugo van der Goes, whose altar piece painted for S.
Maria Nuova at Florence has now been placed in the Uffizi.

Footnote 213:

Vasari’s stories about the connection with oil painting of Antonello
da Messina, Domenico Veneziano, and Andrea dal Castagno have of course
been subjected to a good deal of hostile criticism. Those about the
two latter artists are in the meantime relegated to the limbo of
fable, but the case of Antonello da Messina is somewhat different, and
we are not dependent in his case on Vasari alone. He certainly did not
visit Flanders in the lifetime of Jan van Eyck, for this artist died
before Antonello was born, but von Wurzbach accepts as authentic a
visit on his part to Flanders between 1465 and 1475, and sees evidence
of what he learned there in his extant works (_Niederländisches
Künstler-Lexicon_, sub voce, ‘Antonello’).

Footnote 214:

‘Terre da campane,’ ‘bell earths.’ There seem to be two possible
meanings for the phrase. It may refer to the material used for the
moulds in bell casting, or to the clay from which are made the little
terra-cotta bells by which children in Italy set great store on the
occasion of the mid-summer festival. This last is improbable.

Baldinucci, _Vocabolario del Disegno_, sub voce ‘Nero di Terra di
Campana,’ says that this is a colour made out of a certain scale that
forms on moulds for casting bells or cannon, and that it is good with
oil, but does not stand in fresco. Lomazzo also mentions the pigment.

Footnote 215:

‘L’abbozza’ evidently refers to the first or underpainting, not to the
sketch in chalk, for in the first edition the passage has some
additional words which make this clear. They run as follows:
‘desegnando quella: e così ne primi colori l’abozza, il che alcuni
chiamono imporre.’

Footnote 216:

With the above may be compared ch. 9 of Book VII of L. B. Alberti’s
_De Re Aedificatoria_.

Footnote 217:

The matter in our § 87 was added in the edition of 1568. Though Vasari
declared so unhesitatingly for fresco as the finest of all processes
of painting, he tells us that he used oil for a portion of his mural
work in the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, when he prepared it for the
residence of Duke Cosimo, and we shall notice later his praise of
tempera (postea, p. 291). Vasari describes how he painted in oil on
the walls of a refectory at Naples (_Opere_, VII, 674), and gives us
an interesting notice of his experiments in the technique about the
year 1540 at the monastery of the Camaldoli, near Arezzo, where he
says ‘feci esperimento di unire il colorito a olio con quello (fresco)
e riuscimmi assai acconciamente’ (_Opere_, VII, 667). The technique
required proper working out, for it was not a traditional one.

The most notable instance of its employment before the end of the
fifteenth century is in the case of the ‘Last Supper’ by Leonardo da
Vinci at Milan. A commission of experts has recently been examining
the remains of this, the most famous mural painting in the world, and
has ascertained that the original process employed by Leonardo was not
pure oil painting but a mixed process in which oil played only a part.
The result at any rate, as all the world is aware, was the speedy ruin
of the work, which now only tells as a design, there being but little
of its creator’s actual handiwork now visible.

Some words of the Report are of sufficient interest to be quoted. ‘Pur
troppo, dunque, la stessa tecnica del maestro aveva in sè il germe
della rovina, ben presto, infatti, avvertita nelle sue opere murali.
Spirito indagitore, innovatore, voglioso sempre di “provare e
riprovare” egli voile abbandonare i vecchi, sicuri e sperimentati
sistemi, per tentare l’ esito di sostanze oleose in miscela coi
colori. Perchè nemmeno può dirsi ch’ ei dipingesse, in questo caso,
semplicemente, ad olio come avrebbe fatto ogni altro mortale entrato
nell’ errore di seguire quel metodo anche pei muri. Egli tentò invece
cosa affato nuova; poichè, se da un lato appaiono tracce di parziali e
circoscritte arricciature in uso pel fresco, dall’ altro, la presenza
delle sostanze oleose è accertata dalla mancanza di adhesione dei
colori con la superficie del muro e dalle speciali screpolature della
crosta o pelle formata dai colori stessi, non che dal modo con quale
il dipinto si è andato e si va lentamente disgregando e sfaldando.’
_Bollettino d’ Arte del Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione_, Roma,
1907, I, p. 17.

Another famous instance of the use of oil paint in mural work about a
generation later is to be found in the Sala di Costantino in the
Vatican, where Raphael’s pupils have left two of the decorative
figures by the side of the Popes executed in that medium. One
(Urbanity) is close to the door leading to the Chapel of Nicholas V,
the other is on the wall containing the battle, and is in better
preservation than the first which is covered with wrinkles. The oil
paint gives a certain depth and richness of effect, but there is the
fatal disadvantage that the painting does not look a part of the wall
as is the case with work done in fresco. The fresco is really executed
in the material of the ground, whereas oils and varnishes have nothing
in common with lime and earths, and the connection of structure and
decoration is broken. One of the most successful pieces of work of the
kind is the painting of ‘Christ at the Pillar’ by Sebastian del Piombo
in S. Pietro in Montorio at Rome. The work, which is executed on a
cylindrical surface, is rather shiny, an appearance which in mural
painting is to be avoided, and it has darkened somewhat, though this
defect is not very apparent and the experiment has on the whole
succeeded well. Vasari’s Life of Fra Sebastiano contains a good deal
of information about this particular technique, which was essayed in
the later age of Italian painting more often than is sometimes
imagined. It needs hardly to be said that this oil painting on the
actual plaster of the wall is a different thing from the modern
process of painting on canvas in the studio and then cementing the
completed picture on to the wall. Mural painting on canvas was
introduced by the Venetians in the fifteenth century, for at Venice
atmospheric conditions seem to have been unfavourable to the
preservation of frescoes, and the Venetians preferred canvas to
plaster for their work in oils. It would be interesting to know
whether the canvas was ever fixed _in situ_ before the painter
commenced operations, as from the point of view of the preservation of
decorative effect this would be of importance. Vasari’s story about
Tintoretto’s proceedings at the Scuola di S. Rocco (_Opere_, VI, 594)
is evidence that canvases were painted at home and put up on walls or
ceilings when finished. Of course if a wall be covered with canvas
before the painting begins the canvas is to all intents and purposes
the wall itself, grounded in a certain way.

Footnote 218:

The use of canvas for the purpose in view was, as Vasari mentions
below, very common at Venice, where as early as about 1476, if we
believe Vasari (_Opere_, III, 156), Gentile Bellini executed in this
technique the large scenic pictures with which he adorned the Hall of
Grand Council in the Ducal Palace. Such a process would come naturally
enough to Italian painters as well as to the Flemings, for they had
been accustomed from time immemorial to paint for temporary purposes
on banners and draperies, after a fashion of which Mantegna’s
decorative frieze on fine canvas at Hampton Court is a classic
example. Canvas had however been actually used for pictures even in
ancient Egypt. Not only was the practice of stretching linen over
wooden panels to receive the painting ground in use there in the time
of the New Empire, but some of the recently discovered mummy-case
portraits from Egypt, of the earliest Christian centuries, are
actually on canvas. There is an example in the National Gallery. At
Rome painting on canvas is mentioned by Pliny (_Hist. Nat._, XXXV, 51)
and Boethius (_de Arithmetica_, Praef., I) says that ‘picturae ...
lintea operosis elaborata textrinis ... materiam praestant.’ The
Netherland painters of the fifteenth century nearly always painted on
panel, but canvas was sometimes used, as by Roger van der Weyden in
his paintings for the Town Hall at Brussels.

Footnote 219:

Vasari prescribes ‘due o tre _macinate_’ of white lead for mixture
with the flour and nut oil for the priming of canvas. A ‘macinata’ was
the amount placed at one time on the ‘macina’ or stone for grinding
colours. Berger suggests ‘handfuls’ as a translation, but the amount
would be small, as for careful grinding only one or two lumps of the
pigment would be dealt with at one time.

Footnote 220:

The Ducal Palace, that adjoins S. Marco, is probably the building in
Vasari’s mind. The Library of S. Marco, Sansovino’s masterpiece, might
also be meant, as this was called sometimes the Palace of S. Marco. We
must remember however that, as noticed before, ante, p. 56, this
building, at the time of Vasari’s visit to Venice, was still
unfinished.

Footnote 221:

On panels and canvases as used at Venice Vasari has an interesting
note at the beginning of his Life of Jacopo Bellini (_Opere_, III,
152). This was a subject that would at once appeal to his practical
mind when he visited the city. He notices incidentally that the usual
woods for panels were ‘oppio’ _acer campestris_, maple; or ‘gattice,’
the _populus alba_ of Horace, but that the Venetians used only fir
from the Alps. (Cennini, c. 113, recommends poplar or lime or willow.
Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, XVI, 187, speaks of larch and box, and Ilg says
that northern painters generally used oak.) The Venetian preference
for canvas, Vasari says, was due to the facts that it did not split
nor harbour worms, was portable, and could be obtained of the size
desired; this last he notes too in our text. Berger (_Beiträge_, IV,
29), gives the meaning of ‘Grossartigkeit’ to the word ‘grandezza’
used above by Vasari, but of course it only means material size, not
‘grandeur’ in an aesthetic sense.

Footnote 222:

See ‘Introduction’ to Architecture, § 13, ante, p. 54. The stone is a
species of slate. Slate is suitable for painting on. See Church’s
_Chemistry of Paints and Painting_, 1890, p. 21.

Footnote 223:

Greek paintings on marble panels have come down to us from various
periods of ancient art. Some early Attic specimens on tombstones are
in the museums of Athens, and at Herculaneum there was found an
interesting painting on marble of a group of Greek heroines playing at
knuckle bones. A much earlier slab with a figure of a warrior is in
the Acropolis Museum at Athens.

Footnote 224:

These chiaroscuri or monochromes are characteristic of the later
Renaissance. They may either be frankly decorative, and in this form
obey the rules of all other pictorial enrichment; or they may have an
illusive intention, and be designed to produce the appearance on a
flat wall of architectural members or sculptured or cast-bronze
reliefs. In this case, when on monumental buildings and permanent,
they are insincere and opposed to sound decorative principles, though
on temporary structures they are quite in place. Vasari was a famous
adept at the construction and adornment of such fabrics, which were in
great demand for the numerous Florentine pageants and processions. See
his letters, passim.

Footnote 225:

There are examples of painted imitations of bronze in Michelangelo’s
frescoes on the vault of the Sistine. The medallions held by the pairs
of decorative figures of youths on the cornice are painted to
represent reliefs in this metal. Raphael’s Stanze and Loggie also
furnish instances, and there are good examples on the external façade
of the Palazzo Ricci at Rome.

Footnote 226:

The clay or earth that Vasari speaks of forms the body of the
‘distemper’ or ‘gouache,’ as it would be called respectively in
Britain and in France, and takes the place of the ‘whitening’ used in
modern times. Baldinucci in his _Vocabolario_ explains ‘Terra di cava
o Terretta’ as ‘the earth (clay) with which vessels for the table are
made, that mixed with pounded charcoal is used by painters for
backgrounds and monochromes, and also for primings, and with a tempera
of size for the canvases with which are painted triumphal arches,
perspectives, and the like.’ It is of very fine and even texture, and
Baldinucci says it was found near St. Peter’s at Rome, and also in
great quantity at Monte Spertoli, thirteen miles from Florence.

Footnote 227:

This process of wetting the back of the canvas is to be noted. The
chief inconvenience of the kind of work here spoken of is that it
dries very quickly, and dries moreover very much lighter than when the
work is wet. Hence it is an advantage to keep the ground wet as long
as possible till the tints are properly fused, so that all may dry
together. Wetting the back of the canvas secures this end. The
technique that Vasari is describing is the same as that of the modern
theatrical scene-painter, and would be called ‘distemper painting.’
The colours are mixed with whitening, or finely-ground chalk, and
tempered with size. The whitening makes them opaque and gives them
‘body,’ but is also the cause of their drying light. F. Lloyds, in his
_Practical Guide to Scene Painting and Painting in Distemper_, Lond.
1879, says (p. 42) ‘In the study of the art of distemper painting, a
source of considerable embarrassment to the inexperienced eye is that
the colours when wet present such a different appearance from what
they do when dry.’

Footnote 228:

Does Vasari mean by ‘tempera’ yolk of egg? It has this sense with him
sometimes, as in the heading of chapter VI.

Footnote 229:

Cennini in his 67th chapter gives directions for preparing the mixed
colour he calls verdaccio. It was a compound of white, dark ochre,
black and red.

Footnote 230:

The principle of sgraffito-work, that is the scratching through a thin
superimposed coat to bring to view an under layer of a different
colour, seems to have been established first in pottery making, and in
this connection the Italians called it ‘Sgraffiato.’ The adoption of
the process for the decoration of surfaces of plaster or cement was an
innovation of the Renaissance, and Vasari appears to have been the
first writer who gives a recipe for it. According to his account in
the _Lives_, it was a friend of Morto da Feltro, the Florentine Andrea
di Cosimo, who first started the work, and Vasari describes the
process he employed in phrases that correspond with the wording of the
present chapter (_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, V, 207). A modern expert
describes the process as follows: ‘A wall is covered with a layer of
tinted plaster, and on this is superimposed a thin coating of white
plaster. The outer coat is scratched through, and the colour behind it
is revealed. Then all the white surface outside the design is cut
away, and a cameo-like effect given to the design. This is the art of
Sgraffito as known to the Italian Renaissance’ (_Transactions_,
_R.I.B.A._, 1889, p. 125). The process dropped out of use after a
while, but was revived in Germany in the middle of the nineteenth
century, mainly through the agency of the architect Gottfried Semper,
the author of _Der Stil_. It is sometimes used in our own country both
on monumental and on domestic buildings, and as it is simple and cheap
and permanent it is well fitted for modern use in our climate. The
back of the Science School in Exhibition Road, S. Kensington, was
covered with sgraffiti by the pupils of the late F. W. Moody about
1872. They would be the better now for a cleansing with the modern
steam-blast.

Footnote 231:

See the Notes on ‘Enriched Façades,’ and ‘Stucco “Grotesques,”’ at the
close of the ‘Introduction’ to Painting, postea, pp. 298, 299.

Footnote 232:

This passage presents some difficulty. It runs ‘Dunque, quelle che
vanno in campo bianco, non ci essendo il campo di stucco per non
essere bianca la calce, si dà per tutto sottilmente il campo di
bianco.’ Vasari seems to have in his mind the difference between
ordinary plaster made, as he has just described, of ‘lime mixed with
sand in the ordinary fashion,’ which would not be white, and what he
calls ‘stucco,’ by which term is probably meant the finer plaster made
of white lime from travertine and marble dust. Ordinary plaster has
accordingly to be coated with white before the work begins.

Footnote 233:

Examples of this whimsical style of decoration are abundant in the
Pompeian wall paintings, and the mind of Vitruvius was much exercised
about their frivolity and want of meaning (_De Architectura_, VII, v).

Footnote 234:

Vasari is not very clear in his account of these methods of work, but
it is enough to know that both by the ancients, and at the time of the
Renaissance, colour was used largely in connection with these reliefs,
and the combination could of course take several forms. In the loggia
of the Villa Farnesina, where Raphael worked with his assistants,
there are painted panels in fresco framed in mouldings of stucco,
modelled plaster figures in white against a coloured ground, coloured
stuccoes against coloured fields, and tinted bands separating the
framed plaster medallions. The same kind of work is found in the
Loggie of the Vatican, the Doria Palace at Genoa, and other localities
innumerable. Plate XII shows a characteristic section of the
decoration of the Vatican Loggie.

Footnote 235:

As in the work described at the close of ch. XII (the beginning of the
present section).

Footnote 236:

The word ‘bolus’ is derived from the Greek βῶλος, a lump or clod, and
means, according to Murray’s _Dictionary_, a pill, or a small rounded
mass of any substance, and also a kind of reddish clay or earth, used
medically for its astringent properties, that was brought from
Armenia, and called by the pharmacologist ‘bole armeniac.’ Its use in
the arts is due to its unctuous character, which made gold adhere to
it. See below. In mediaeval illuminations a ‘bolus’ or small lump of a
properly prepared gesso is generally laid on the parchment where gold
is to come, so that the raised surface may give the polished metal
more effect. The gold over the bolus was always burnished. It may be
noticed that our word ‘size’ is really ‘assise,’ the bed or layer
under gilding, for which a gluey substance was suitable.

Footnote 237:

A ‘mordant’ as the word implies is some corrosive liquid, such as is
used by dyers to bite into the fabric and carry in with it the
colouring matter. The word is also employed, as in this passage, for a
glutinous size used as ground for gilding, such as the modern
decorator’s ‘gold-size.’ Gold laid in this way has a ‘mat’ surface.

Footnote 238:

The scudo was worth in Tuscany about four-and-sixpence of our money.
In Florence its value was a little greater.

Footnote 239:

See Note 1, ante, p. 248.

Footnote 240:

For the various processes of preparing a panel for painting and for
gilding reference must be made to Cennini’s _Trattato_, where many
technical matters are elucidated that Vasari passes over almost
without notice. It must be remembered that Cennini writes as a tempera
painter, while in Vasari’s time these elaborate processes were falling
out of use. In his chapters 115–119, Cennini gives recipes for what he
calls ‘gesso grosso’ and ‘gesso sottile.’ They are made of the same
materials, ‘volterrano,’ or plaster from Volterra, which is a sulphate
of lime corresponding to our ‘plaster of Paris,’ and size made from
parchment shreds; but the plaster for ‘gesso sottile’ is more finely
prepared. The plaster, produced by calcining gypsum, is first
thoroughly slaked by being drenched with water till it loses all
tendency to ‘set,’ and is then as a powder or paste mixed with the
heated size. The size makes the composition dry quite hard, and
Cennini speaks of its having a surface like ivory.

Footnote 241:

See Note 2, ante, p. 248.

Footnote 242:

This we should call ‘shell gold.’ It is in common use. The employment
of the shell represents a very ancient tradition, for shells were the
usual receptacles for pigments in late classical and Early Christian
times.

Footnote 243:

This is excellent advice. The architectural character of mosaic
decoration, the distance of the work from the eye, the nature of the
technique and material, all invite to a broad and simple treatment,
such as we find in the best mosaics at Ravenna and Rome. Modern work
is often too elaborate and too minute in detail.

Footnote 244:

A modern would say that if the work be really inlaid, it should look
like inlaid work, and not like something else. In the Italy of
Vasari’s day however, as we have seen, painting had so thoroughly got
the upper hand, that to ape the nobler art would seem a legitimate
ambition for the mosaicist.

Footnote 245:

The durability of mosaic depends on the cement in which the cubes are
embedded and on the care taken in their setting. The pieces themselves
are indestructible but they will sometimes drop out from the wall.
Hence extensive restorations have been carried out on the Early
Christian mosaics at Ravenna and other places.

Footnote 246:

In his _Proemio delle Vite_ (_Opere_, I, 242) Vasari explains what he
means by the words ‘antique’ and ‘old.’ The former refers to the
so-called ‘classical’ epoch before Constantine; the latter to the
Early Christian and early mediaeval period, prior to the Italian
revival of the thirteenth century.

Footnote 247:

At S. Costanza (see Note 5, ante, p. 27) on the vault of the aisle
there are decorative mosaics of the time of Constantine showing vine
scrolls issuing out of vases, and classical genii gathering the
grapes. Birds are introduced among the tendrils.

Footnote 248:

The mosaics at Ravenna and S. Marco, Venice, are well known. In the
Duomo at Pisa, in the apse, there still remains the Saviour in Glory
between the Madonna and John the Baptist, designed by a certain
Cimabue, and the only existing work which modern criticism would
accept as from the hand of the traditional father of Florentine
painting. It may however have been another painter nicknamed
‘Cimabue,’ who worked at Pisa early in the fourteenth century. The
mosaics of the Tribune of the Baptistry at Florence were executed in
1225 by Jacobus, a monk of the Franciscan Order, and this fact is
attested by an inscription in mosaic which forms part of the work.

Footnote 249:

This mosaic, called the ‘Navicella,’ represents the Gospel ship manned
by Christ and the disciples, with Peter struggling in the waves. It
has been so much restored that little if any of Giotto’s work remains
in it. It was replaced in the seventeenth century, after some
wanderings, in the porch of the present Basilica, but Vasari saw it of
course in the porch of the old, or Constantinian, church, the entrance
end of which was still standing in his day.

Footnote 250:

This mosaic was executed at the end of the fifteenth century by
Domenico Ghirlandajo and his brother over the northern door of the
nave of the cathedral of Florence. It is still _in situ_ but has been
greatly restored. The date 1490 is introduced in the composition.

Footnote 251:

This corresponds with modern practice. The following is from a paper
by Mr James C. Powell, who, as practical worker in glass, has been
engaged with Sir W. B. Richmond in the decoration in mosaic of the
vaults of St Paul’s. ‘The glass which is rendered opaque by the
addition of oxide of tin, is coloured as required by one of the
metallic oxides; this is melted in crucibles placed in the furnace,
and when sufficiently fused is ladled out in small quantities on to a
metal table, and pressed into circular cakes about eight inches in
diameter and from three-eighths to half an inch in thickness; these
are then cooled gradually in a kiln, and when cold are ready for
cracking up into tesserae, which can be further subdivided as the
mosaicist requires. It is the fractured surface that is used in mosaic
generally, as that has a pleasanter surface and a greater richness of
colour; the thickness of the cake, therefore, regulates the limit of
the size of the tesserae, and the fractured surface gives that
roughness of texture which is so valuable from an artistic point of
view.’ (_Transactions_, _R.I.B.A._, 1893–4, p. 249).

Footnote 252:

This is a point attended to by the best modern workers in mosaic.
Where gold backgrounds are used it is advisable to carry the gold into
the figures by using it as Vasari suggests for the lights on the
draperies. If this were not done the figures would be liable to tell
as dull masses against the more brilliant ground. The use of gold
backgrounds is specially Byzantine. The earlier mosaics at Rome and at
Ravenna have backgrounds of blue generally of a dark shade, which is
particularly fine at Ss. Cosma e Damiano at Rome and in the tomb of
Galla Placidia at Ravenna. The mosaics at S. Sophia at Constantinople
of the sixth century had gold backgrounds, and this is the case also
with all the later examples in Italy from the ninth and tenth
centuries onwards. The finest displays of these varied fields of gold,
now deep now lustrous of hue, are to be seen in S. Sophia, S. Marco at
Venice, and the Cappella Palatina at Palermo.

Vasari’s account of the fabrication of the gilded tesserae required
for this part of the work is quite clear and agrees with modern
practice. The gold leaf is hermetically sealed between two sheets of
glass by the fusion of a thin film over it. The technique of the
‘fondi d’ oro,’ or glass vessels adorned with designs in gold, found
in the Roman catacombs, was of the same nature.

Footnote 253:

It has been noticed at some places, as at Torcello, that before the
cubes were laid in the soft cement the whole design was washed in in
colour on the surface of the cement. This facilitated correct setting
and avoided any appearance of white cement squeezed up in the
interstices between the cubes. On this particular feature of the
mosaic technique Berger has founded an ingenious theory of the origin
of painting in fresco. It is his thesis, in his _Beiträge zur
Entwicklungs-Geschichte der Maltechnik_, I, München, 1904, that the
ancients did not employ the fresco process, but that this was evolved
in early mediaeval days out of the mosaic technique as seen, _e.g._,
at Torcello. The stucco, that Vasari describes, must be put on portion
by portion, for it only keeps soft two or three days, and can only be
used for setting the cubes while in a moist state. Now, Berger
contends, if the design for the mosaic be painted in colours on the
wet stucco, and the whole allowed to dry, without any use of the
mosaic cubes, we should have a painting in fresco, and he imagines
that fresco painting began in this way. Unfortunately for the theory,
(1), the testimony of Vitruvius and Pliny is absolutely decisive in
favour of the knowledge in antiquity of the fresco technique, and,
(2), the use of the coloured painting on the stucco as a guide for the
setting of the cubes was not normal, and can never have been used so
freely as to give rise to a new technique of painting. As a fact, this
colouring of the stucco is objected to by the best modern workers on
aesthetic grounds, for they point out that the lines of grey cement
between the coloured cubes answer to the lead lines in the stained
glass window, and should be reckoned with by the designer as part of
his artistic effect. No doubt the older mosaicists, like the workers
in stained glass, instinctively apprehended this, and had no desire
for the coloured cement.

Footnote 254:

One would expect here ‘lime of travertine,’ for what Vasari must mean
is lime prepared by burning this stone, which he recommends elsewhere,
_e.g._ ‘Architettura,’ cap. iv, and ‘Scultura,’ cap. vi (calce di
trevertino). The cement here given is a lime cement mixed with water.
A sort of putty mixed with boiled oil is also employed, and is said to
have been introduced by Girolamo Muziano of Brescia, a contemporary of
Vasari. Each mosaic worker seems to have his own special recipe for
this compound.

Footnote 255:

The process described by Vasari of building up the mosaic _in situ_,
tessera by tessera, according to the design pounced portion by portion
on the soft cement, is the most direct and by far the most artistic,
and was employed for all the fine mosaics of olden time. In modern
days labour-saving appliances have been tried, though it is
satisfactory to know that they are all again discarded in the best
work of to-day, such as that of Sir W. B. Richmond in St. Paul’s. One
of the methods referred to, which can be carried out in the studio, is
to take a reversed tracing of the design, covered with gum, and place
the cubes face downwards upon it according to the colour scheme. When
they are all in position, as far as can be judged when working from
the back, a coating of cement is laid over them and they are thus
fixed in their places. The whole sheet is then lifted up and cemented
in its proper place on the wall, the drawing to which the faces of the
cubes are gummed being afterwards removed by wetting. A better plan
than this is called by the Italians ‘Mosaico a rivoltatura.’ For this
process the tesserae are laid, face upwards, in a bed of pozzolana,
slightly damp, which forms a temporary joint between the adjacent
cubes. Coarse canvas is pasted over the face of the work; it is lifted
up, and the pozzolana brushed out of the interstices. The whole is
then applied to the wall surface and pressed into the cement with
which this has been coated. When the cement has set the canvas is
removed from the face.

Footnote 256:

The Duomo of Siena is a veritable museum of floor decorations in
incised outlines and in black and white, in the various processes
described by Vasari. There is a good notice of them in Labarte,
_Histoire des Arts Industriels_. None of the work is as early as the
time of Duccio, but Beccafumi executed a large amount of it. See the
Life of that artist by Vasari.

It is worthy of notice that Dante had something of this kind in his
thoughts, when in the 12th Canto of the _Purgatorio_ he describes the
figure designs on the ground of the first circle of Purgatory.

‘So saw I there ...
... with figures covered
Whate’er of pathway from the mount projects.

· · · · ·

O Niobe! with what afflicted eyes
Thee I beheld upon the pathway traced,
Between thy seven and seven children slain!
O Saul! how fallen upon thy proper sword
Didst thou appear there lifeless in Gilboa
That felt thereafter neither rain nor dew!

· · · · ·

Whoe’er of pencil master was or stile,
That could portray the shades and traits which there
Would cause each subtle genius to admire?
Dead seemed the dead, the living seemed alive;
Better than I saw not who saw the truth,
All that I trod upon while bowed I went.’
Longfellow’s Translation.

Footnote 257:

See Note on ‘Tuscan Marble Quarries,’ ante, p. 119.

Footnote 258:

The Appartamento Borgia still contains a good display of these
variegated tiles; the original ones are however rather the worse for
wear. In the Life of Raphael, Vasari says they were supplied by the
della Robbia of Florence. In the Castle of S. Angelo there is a
collection of interesting specimens of the tiles Vasari goes on to
mention. They are in cases in the Sala della Giustizia, and exhibit
the devices of Alexander VI, Julius II, Leo X, Paul III, and other
Popes. The pavement of the Laurentian Library at Florence is laid with
tiles showing a very effective design of yellow upon red. They are
ascribed to Tribolo.

Footnote 259:

Was this the road from Seravezza seawards which Michelangelo had
begun? See Note on ‘Tuscan Marble Quarries,’ ante, p. 119. Specimens
of these Stazzema breccias are shown as C, D, on the Frontispiece.

Footnote 260:

Lat. _Evonymus Europaeus_. The only English example of the family is
the spindle tree.

Footnote 261:

The Lemonnier editors say that this work is lost. Of course Vasari is
speaking of the Old St. Peter’s, not the present structure.

Footnote 262:

Fra Damiano of Bergamo is mentioned by Vasari in his Life of Francesco
Salviati (_Opere_, ed. Milanesi, VII).

Footnote 263:

Inlays of different coloured woods, forming what is known as tarsia
work, and sometimes as marqueterie, compose an easily understood kind
of decoration that has been practised especially in the East from time
immemorial. There is however a special interest attaching to this work
in the Italy of the fifteenth century, in that it was connected with
the studies in perspective that had so potent an influence on the
general artistic progress of the time. For some reason that is not
clearly apparent the designs for this work often took the form of
buildings and city views in perspective, and artists amused themselves
in working out in this form problems in that indispensable science.
The history of the craft is so instructive that it is worth a special
Note, which the reader will find at the end of this ‘Introduction,’
postea, p. 303.

Footnote 264:

‘The onyx marbles of Algeria, Mexico, and California (which are of the
same nature as the Oriental alabasters) can be cut and ground
sufficiently thin for window purposes’ (Mr W. Brindley in
_Transactions_, _R.I.B.A._, 1887, p. 53). See also ante, p. 43.

Footnote 265:

The ‘occhi’ of Vasari correspond to the old-fashioned ‘bull’s-eyes’
which are still to be seen surviving in cottage windows. The ‘bull’s
eye’ pane was the middle part of a sheet of so-called ‘crown’ glass
where was attached the iron rod or tube with which the mass of molten
glass was extracted from the furnace, before, by rotation of the rod,
it was spread out into the form of a sheet. When the rod was
ultimately detached a knob remained, and this part of the sheet was
used for glazing as a cheap ‘waste product.’ In connection with the
modern revival in domestic architecture, for which Mr Norman Shaw
deserves a good deal of the credit, these rough panes have come again
into fashion, and manufacturers make them specially and supply them at
the price of an artistic luxury! In Vasari’s time they were evidently
quite common, and we find numerous specimens represented in the
pictures of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The bedroom of S.
Ursula in Carpaccio’s picture at Venice; the cell of S. Jerome in
Dürer’s engraving; the room in which van Eyck paints Arnolfini and his
wife, those in which Jost Amman’s ‘Handworkers’ are busy, etc., etc.,
have casements glazed in this fashion, the knob, called in English
‘bullion,’ in French ‘boudine,’ in German ‘Butzen,’ being distinctly
represented as in relief.

Footnote 266:

The ‘telajo di legno’ is a window frame of wood such as we are
familiar with in modern days, only in olden times these were often
made detachable and taken about from place to place when lords and
ladies changed their domicile. When Julius II wanted Bramante to fill
some windows of the Vatican with coloured glass, it was found that the
French ambassador to the Papal court had brought a painted window in
such a frame from his own country, and the sight of this led to the
invitation to Rome of French artists in this material. See _infra_,
Note 5.

Footnote 267:

See Note on ‘The Stained Glass Window’ at the close of this
‘Introduction,’ postea, p. 308.

Footnote 268:

Vasari wrote the life of this artist, who had been his own teacher in
early years at Arezzo (_Opere_, IV, 417). Gaye, _Carteggio_, II, 449,
gives documentary evidence that he was the son of a certain Pierre de
Marcillat, and was born at S. Michel in the diocese of Verdun in
France. His name therefore has nothing to do with Marseilles, which
moreover is not in a glass-painting locality, whereas Verdun, between
France and Germany, is just in the region where the art was developed
and flourished. Guglielmo and another Frenchman named Claude came to
Rome about 1508 in the circumstances described in the foregoing Note,
and made some windows for the Sala Regia of the Vatican and other
parts of the Palace. These have all perished, but there still survive
two windows from their hands in the choir of S. Maria del Popolo, on
which are the name and arms of Pope Julius II. They are placed north
and south behind and above the high altar, and have each three lights.
They contain scenes from the lives of Christ and the Madonna, in which
the figures are carefully drawn but the colour is patchy. Though the
reds are clear and strong, there is a good deal of grey and the
architectural backgrounds are rather muddy in hue. The artist was
invited from Rome to Cortona and from thence to Arezzo, which as
Vasari notices in the beginning of his Life remained his home to the
end. He executed many windows there, in the cathedral and in S.
Francesco, some of which still remain; and also works in fresco.
Vasari declares that he owed to his teaching the first principles of
art.

On the whole subject of the glass-painting craft see the Note on ‘The
Stained Glass Window,’ postea, p. 308, where the curious confusion of
two different processes, between which Vasari’s treatment oscillates,
is elucidated.

Footnote 269:

The significance of Vasari’s demand for transparency in glass is
explained in the Note, postea, p. 308.

Footnote 270:

It is somewhat remarkable that the Venetians, who practised the art of
glass mosaic from about the ninth century, and in the thirteenth began
their famous glass works, never achieved anything in the technique of
the stained glass window. Venetian glass vessels, like the glorious
lamps from the Cairo Mosques, owe much of their beauty to the fact
that the material is not clarified but possesses a beautiful warm
tone. It is indeed more difficult to get clear glass than tinted.

Footnote 271:

For the most part this description, with the exception of the part
about scaling-off glass in order to introduce a variety in colour,
corresponds closely with the technical directions which Theophilus
gives so fully and clearly in his _Schedula Diversarum Artium_ of
about 1100 A.D. It is pretty clear that Vasari is telling us here what
he learned from William of Marcillat who would have inherited the
traditions of the great French glass-painters of the thirteenth
century.

Footnote 272:

The ‘scaglia’ is the thin scale that comes off heated iron when
cooling under the hammer, and is collected from the floors of
smithies. Vasari thinks of it as a ‘rust’ ‘ruggine,’ because rusty
iron scales off in much the same way, the cause in both cases probably
being oxidization. Hence the expression ‘another rust.’

Footnote 273:

The pigments or pastes that are to be fused on to the coloured glass,
to modify its hue or to indicate details, are powdered and mixed with
gum for convenience in application. The gum is not to serve as
permanent binding material as the pastes are subsequently fused and
burnt in on the glass.

Footnote 274:

It will be understood that the glass subjected to this treatment is
not coloured in the mass, or what is called ‘pot-metal,’ but has a
film of colour ‘flashed’ or spread thinly on a clear sheet. This is
done with certain colours, such as the admired ruby red, because a
piece coloured in the mass would be too opaque for effect. Economy may
also be a consideration, as the ruby stain is a product of gold.

Footnote 275:

The composition, which when fused stains the glass yellow, may before
fusion be of a red hue. As a rule the yellow stain on glass is
produced by silver. Vasari does not say what his composition is.

Footnote 276:

The red film is what Vasari understands by the ‘painting.’ This might
fuse and run with the heat required to fuse the yellow.

Footnote 277:

That is, the space where the yellow leaf is to come may be cleared of
the red film _after_ the yellow leaf has been painted on the back, as
well as _before_ that process. The process Vasari describes of
introducing small details of a particular colour into a field of
another hue is a good deal employed by modern workers in glass, but it
was not known to Theophilus, or much used in the palmy days of the
art, the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

Footnote 278:

In Theophilus’s time these convenient leads grooved on both sides,
which are still in use, were not invented. He directs the worker to
bind strips of lead round each piece of glass and then solder together
the leads when the pieces so bound are brought into juxtaposition.

Footnote 279:

‘Niello’ is from the mediaeval Latin ‘nigellum,’ ‘black,’ and refers
to the black composition with which engraved lines in metal plates
were filled, according to the process detailed by Vasari.

Footnote 280:

It is curious that the chapter ends without any discussion of the
chasing of gold and silver plate.

Footnote 281:

To some small extent the ancients do seem to have filled the engraved
lines in their bronze or silver plates with colouring matter, and the
known examples are described in Daremberg et Saglio, _Dictionnaire des
Antiquités_, art. ‘Chrysographia,’ p. 1138. Pliny, _Hist. Nat._,
XXXIII, 46, gives a recipe, as used by the Egyptians, for a material
for colouring silver that corresponds with the composition used for
niello work, though the use he indicates seems rather that of an
artificial _patina_ than a filling for incisions. In any case the use
of such a filling in antiquity was quite uncommon, for the innumerable
incised designs on the backs of Greek and Etruscan mirrors and on
caskets like the Ficeronian Cista show no indication of the process,
though of course in the lapse of time the incisions have acquired a
darker tinge than the smooth surfaces of the metal, and Vasari may
have seen them filled with accidental impurities.

Footnote 282:

A burin is shown in Fig. 2, D, ante, p. 48.

Footnote 283:

Vasari makes no mention here of sulphur, which in the recipes given by
Pliny, Theophilus, and Cellini, is a constant constituent of the black
amalgam. Silver and lead alone would not give the black required.

Footnote 284:

The ‘Pax,’ Italian ‘pace,’ was a little tablet of metal or some other
material used in churches to transmit the kiss of peace from the
priest to the people. Certain paxes once in the Baptistry of Florence
have now found their way through the Uffizi to the Museum in the
Bargello, but experts are not agreed as to the ascription of
particular examples to Finiguerra. See Milanesi’s note on this artist
at the close of Vasari’s Life of Marc Antonio Raimondi (_Opere_, V,
443).

Footnote 285:

In Vasari’s first edition, of 1550, there is a notice of Finiguerra in
the Life of Antonio Pollaiuolo (p. 498) and he there celebrates only
the skill of Maso as a niellist, but in the edition of 1568 there is
another notice of him in connection with Marc Antonio (_Opere_, ed.
Milanesi, V, 395), and here Vasari claims for him the credit of being
the first to make the advance from niello work to copper-plate
engraving. This second passage is a famous one, and describes how
Finiguerra moulded his silver plate, incised with a design, in clay,
and then cast it in sulphur, and subsequently filled the hollow lines
in the sulphur cast (which reproduced the incisions on the silver
plate) with lamp-black, so that they showed up more clearly. He then
seems, according to Vasari, to have pressed damp paper against the
sulphur plaque so treated, and obtained a print by extracting the
black from the lines. Benvenuto Cellini however, a better authority
than Vasari on Finiguerra, praises him as the best niello worker of
his time, but says nothing about this further development of his
craft, and on the contrary ascribes the invention of copper-plate
engraving to the Germans. Cellini tells us at the end of his
‘Introduzione,’ that in 1515, when fifteen years old, he began to
learn the goldsmith’s trade, and that then, though the art of niello
work had greatly declined, the older goldsmiths sang in his ears the
praise of Maso Finiguerra, who had died in 1464. Hence, Cellini says,
he gave special attention to niello work, and he describes the
process, at rather greater length than Vasari, in the first chapter of
his _Treatise_ on Gold-work (_I Trattati, etc. di Benvenuto Cellini_,
ed. Milanesi, Firenze, 1893).

The question of the origin of copper-plate engraving need not be here
discussed. Any of the incised silver or bronze plaques of the ancients
might have been printed from; and as a fact some incised bronze discs
that are placed at the bottoms of the towers in the great crown-light
of the twelfth century in the Minster at Aachen have actually been put
through the printing press and the impressions published, though no
one at the time they were made can have thought of printing from them.
In the same way wooden stamps in relief were used by Egyptians and
Romans for impressing the damp clay of their bricks, though no one
seems to have thought of multiplying impressions on papyrus or
parchment. So trial impressions of niello plates, before the lines
were filled in permanently, may often have been made, and not by
Finiguerra alone. The idea of multiplying such impressions on their
own account is now universally credited to the Germans, and this seems
also to have been the opinion of Cellini. See his ‘Introduzione.’

Footnote 286:

That is to say, the bottoms of cups or chalices. There are notices of
armorial insignia, enamelled at the bottom of cups of gold used by
some of the French kings, in Labarte, _Histoire des Arts Industriels_.

Footnote 287:

Giulio: a piece coined under Pope Julius II, of the same value as the
‘paolo,’ and equivalent to 56 centesimi, or about 5½d. of our money.

Footnote 288:

That is, the outlines of the different figures, ornaments, or other
objects executed in low relief on the metal. See the Note on ‘Vasari’s
Description of Enamel Work’ at the close of the ‘Introduction’ to
Painting, postea, p. 311.

Footnote 289:

‘The other kind’ probably refers to the incisions on the niello plates
of which he has been speaking. These are hollow, or in intaglio,
whereas the work he is here describing is in relief.

Footnote 290:

‘Si fermino col martello.’ The only practicable use of the hammer in
connection with enamels is to pound the lumps of vitreous paste to a
more or less fine powder, in which form they are placed over the
metal. Theophilus, in chapter 53 of his third Book, ‘de Electro,’ ‘on
Enamel,’ introduces the hammer in a similar connection: ‘Accipiensque
singulas probati vitri ... quod mox confringas cum rotundo malleo
donec subtile fiat;’ ‘take portions of the glass you have tested ...
and break up each lump with a round headed hammer till it be finely
powdered.’ Cellini also says the pastes are to be pounded in a mortar
‘con martello.’ _Trattati_, p. 30. It is not easy however to see how
any sense of ‘pounding’ can be extracted from the verb ‘fermare’ which
Vasari uses.

Footnote 291:

The difference in colour between gold and silver will naturally affect
the choice of the transparent vitreous pastes that are to cover them,
and there are also considerations of a chemical kind which prevent the
use of certain pastes on certain metal grounds. For example tin has
the property of rendering transparent enamels opaque, and transparent
pastes cannot be used over metal grounds wherein tin enters into the
composition. Cellini, who gives the same caution as Vasari, takes as
an illustration transparent ruby coloured enamel, which he says cannot
be used over silver, for a reason which has about it a reminiscence of
the ancient alchemy, namely, that it is a product of gold and must be
employed only over its kindred metal! On the other hand he forbids for
use with gold yellow, white, and turquoise blue. We are indebted for
some special information on this highly technical subject to the
kindness of Mr H. H. Cunynghame, C.B., who writes: ‘There are two
distinct reasons why different enamels are used on silver and gold
respectively. The first is an artistic reason. Transparent reds do not
show well over silver, the rays reflected from a silver surface not
being well calculated to show off the colours of the gold. In fact
silver absorbs those rays on the transmission of which the beauty of
gold-red largely depends, whence then it follows that transparent
blues and greens should be used on silver, and reds, browns, and the
brighter yellows on gold. In addition to this, silver has its surface
disturbed by the silicic acid in the enamel. The consequence is that
ordinary enamels put on a silver surface are stained. To prevent this
it is desirable to add some ingredient that dissolves and renders
colourless the stain. For this purpose therefore special fluxes or
clear enamels are made for silver. They usually contain manganese and
arsenic. The first of these has such a property of “clarifying”
enamels and glazes that it used to be called the potter’s “soap,” for
it cleaned the glazes on china. The other is also used for the same
purpose.... As silver alloy is more easy to melt than gold alloy,
fluxes, i.e. clear enamels for silver, are much more fusible than
those for gold.’

Footnote 292:

This is a practice of modern enamellers. Cellini however is against
it, as if the enamels begin again to run there is a danger of losing
the truth of the surface. He recommends polishing by hand alone
(_Trattati_, ed. Milanesi, 35).

Footnote 293:

This may have been the so-called Venetian enamel used in Vasari’s
time. This was a form of opaque painted enamel over copper, extremely
decorative, but coarse as compared with the translucent enamel over
reliefs. We owe this suggestion to Sir T. Gibson Carmichael.

Footnote 294:

The word ‘Tausia,’ and its connection with ‘Tarsia,’ the term used for
wood inlays, has given rise to some discussion. The explanation in
Bucher’s _Geschichte der Technischen Künste_, III, 14, is probably
correct, and according to this the Italian ‘Tausia’ comes from the
Spanish ‘Tauscia’ or ‘Atauscia,’ which is derived from an Arabic root
meaning ‘to decorate.’ The art of inlaying one metal in another is one
of great antiquity in the East, and was no doubt brought to Spain by
the Moors, from which country, perhaps by way of Sicily, it spread to
Italy. The word ‘Tarsia,’ applied as we have already seen to inlays in
wood, may have been derived by corruption from ‘Tausia,’ though, as
the form ‘Intarsia’ is also common, a derivation (unlikely) has been
suggested from the Latin ‘Interserere.’ The ‘in’ is probably only the
preposition, that has become incorporated with the word it preceded.

Footnote 295:

‘Cavasi il ferro in sotto squadra.’

Footnote 296:

If the sinkings be undercut the further process of roughening the sunk
surfaces is hardly necessary, but the roughening or puncturing may
suffice to hold the inlaid metal when there is no actual undercutting
of the sides of the sinkings.

Footnote 297:

The ‘filiera,’ or iron plate pierced with holes of various sizes for
drawing wires through, was known to Theophilus. See chapter 8 of Book
III of the _Schedula_, ‘_De ferris per quae fila trahuntur_.’

Footnote 298:

Vasari does not attempt to deal with the art of wood engraving in
general nor need this Note traverse the whole subject. In all these
later chapters of the ‘Introduction’ to Painting he is dealing with
forms of the decorative art in which various materials are put
together so as to produce something of the effect of a picture. Hence
all that he envisages in the department of wood engraving are what are
called chiaroscuri, or engravings meant to produce the effect of
shaded drawings by tints rather than by the lines which constitute
engravings proper. It has been noticed that some writers on engraving,
(ante, p. 20) have denied to these imitated light-and-shade drawings
the character of true engravings.

As we have seen to be the case with copper-plate engraving (ante, p.
275) priority is now claimed in these chiaroscuri for Germany over
Italy, and Ugo da Carpi, who was born about 1450, near Bologna,
becomes rather the improver of a German process than the inventor of a
new one. On July 24, 1516, when resident in Venice he petitions the
Signoria of that city for privilege for his ‘new method of printing in
light and shade, a novel thing and not done before.’ Lippmann (_The
Art of Wood Engraving in Italy in the Fifteenth Century_, trans.,
London, 1888) thinks that this claim may be true ‘in so far as he may
have introduced further developments in the practice of colour
printing with several blocks, which still survived in Venice,
especially after the production of coloured wood-cuts by Burgkmair and
Cranach in Germany had given fresh stimulus to a more artistic
cultivation of that method’ (p. 69), and that ‘he gave the art an
entirely new development based upon the principles which guided the
profession of painting’ (p. 136). This last phrase explains the
interest that Vasari here manifests in his work. In the older wood
engraving only lines had been left on the block to take the ink, the
rest of the surface being cut away, and whatever was to be shown in
the print was displayed in the lines alone. In the new method broad
surfaces of the wood were left, on which was spread a film of ink or
pigment, and these printed a corresponding tint upon the paper which
took off the film thus laid. The pigment might be of any colour
desired, or might only represent a lighter tint of the ink that had
been used all along for the lines. Hence either an effect of colour or
one merely of gradations of light and shade could equally well be
produced by the process Vasari describes. The work he contemplates is
of the latter kind, and his explanation of the process by which it was
produced is fairly clear. Plate XIV, from a print by Ugo da Carpi in
the British Museum, gives a specimen of the result.

Critics of Ugo da Carpi’s work, which is sufficiently abundant, notice
that he begins by merely adding tints of shading to outlines, which as
in the earlier productions of the Germans, like those of Cranach or
Dienecker, remained substantially responsible for the effect; but that
he gives more and more importance to the tints, the pictorial element
in the design, till the outlines end by merely reinforcing the
chiaroscuro, like the touches ‘a tempera’ that give effect and
decision to painting in fresco (Kristeller, _Kupferstich und
Holzschnitt in vier Jahrhunderten_, Berlin, 1905, p. 300).

Footnote 299:

That is, he made three blocks A, B, C, each the full size of the
design, but each containing only a part of the work. A has engraved on
it all the _lines_ of the design, and a print from it would be an
old-fashioned engraving proper. Such a print with the ink on it still
wet is pressed down on a clean block of wood, on which it leaves
indications of all these lines. The broad tints of shading, in which
gradations may be introduced, are then laid on the block by hand, the
outlines being a guide, and so is constituted block B, an impression
from which printed on a sheet already printed from block A, and made
to register accurately with this, would add shading to the outlines. C
would add by the same process a third tint, quite flat, for the
background, and this might of course be of another colour. The high
lights would be cut away in this block, C, and these parts come out
white in the print, as is seen on Plate XIV. The uniform grey shade on
the Plate is the background tint. In the actual process of printing
this block, C, is first put into the press and produces an impression
showing the tinted background but white spaces where the high lights
are to come. B, with the shadows tinted but all the rest of the wood
cut away, is printed over the impression from C, and lastly A comes to
give the decided lines and sharpen up the whole effect.

Footnote 300:

The ‘oil colour’ is the pigment which is transferred from the block to
the paper. The ‘water colour’ and the ‘white lead mixed with gum’
mentioned above are only put on by the artist to guide the wood-cutter
in his work of cutting the block.

Footnote 301:

The text, in both the original editions, runs as follows: ‘E la terza
che è la prima a formarsi, è quella dove il profilato del tutto è
incavato per tutto, salvo che dove e’ non ha i profili tocchi dal nero
della penna,’ and the negative is puzzling, for obviously the wood
must be cut away everywhere but in those places where the outlines do
come.

Footnote 302:

But Theophilus says practically nothing about design, and yet the
mediaeval epoch was for the decorative arts one of the most glorious
the world has ever seen. See on this subject the last part of the
Introductory Essay, ante, p. 20 f.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
2. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
3. Enclosed bold or blackletter font in =equals=.
4. Used a caret (^) to indicate superscripts, including single
characters like 2^d or entire phrases like 1^{st}.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Vasari on technique : Being the introduction to the three arts of design, architecture, sculpture, and painting. Prefixed to the lives of the most excellent painters, sculptors and architects" ***

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